


Under the Brave Black Flag: Bonds of Old 4

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Medieval Fantasy 'Vengers Cakeverse [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Armor, Bonding, Epic Battles, F/F, F/M, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Multi, Swords & Sorcery, Telepathic Bond, magic is different for everyone, minor Carol Danvers/Sam Winchester, minor Jessica Drew/Fandral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5943556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Here's a handy list of who belongs where along with place names. It's just the major players. Hope this helps as we start on the fourth installment.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

… I used to think that adventures were things folk went out and looked for, because they wanted exciting and life was a bit dull. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that we remember. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually. But I expect they had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on … Full of darkness and danger those adventures were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing… this shadow. Even darkness must pass.[1]

 

\-- Hengwet Manuscript, the Bodemetro Library, University of the Midlands

 

 

‘Twas certain then that death was nigh, the cold breath of the reaper chilling his bones. The deck tilted beneath him, bucking on the choppy waves, restless to escape this trap and sail free one more. With a booming voice, the Captain ordered the guns primed and swords at ready. String taut in his fingers, he drew back, arrow notched, his hawk eyes  narrowed not on the other ship’s captain, but the helmsman who spun the wheel. Sound faded, the boom of the canons unnoticed and he aimed, breathed, and let fly.

 

\-- The Pirate and the Archer, Eastern Midlands version

 

 

License my hands to rove, let them go,  

Before, behind, between, above, below.

O new-found-land, my holding

My kingdom, safest in my hands alone,

A mine of precious stones, my all,

That I have the blessing of discovering thee!

To enter into this bond is to be free;

Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.[2]

 

\-- Ancient Bonding Ceremony Vows

 

 

[1] Taken and edited from J. R. R. Tolkien’s _The Two Towers_

[2] Taken and edited from John Donne’s “To His Mistress Going to Bed”


	2. The Road So Far

**THE ROAD SO FAR**

 

Returning home to take his place as Lord of his mother’s family’s holdings, Clinton Barton agrees to an arranged marriage to Philip Coulson, one of Lord Nicholas Fury’s heirs. In return for gold to help rebuild his tattered manor and defenses, Clint also gains the protection of Fury, one of the most powerful Lords in the Midlands. Phillip accepts to escape King Donaldson’s plan to marry him off to Prince Loki of Asgard. What neither of them expect is the bond they feel from the first moment they met, a tangible magical connection that explodes between them. As Philip starts setting the holding to rights, they fight off animal attacks and other dangers coming down from the mountains. An evil is rising, trying to stop Philip’s magical abilities from coming to fruition and Clint’s own gifts from manifesting. Despite long odds, the two manage to fend off the darkness, including a visit from Loki himself, while falling in love along the way. 

 

When the Prince switches his offer to Philip’s sister, Darcy Lewis, she and their younger brother, Peter Parker, slip away to Barton Manor to avoid her being caught up in Loki’s scheme. There she meets the clerk, Bruce Banner, a berserker, and they form a bond that stabilizing his rage and brings out her bardic gifts. As shambling monsters and wargs target them, together with Clinton and Philip, they search for the legendary Lord Steven Rogers armor and shield, staying one step ahead of the villains who want the items for themselves. Their search ends at a mountain lake where Darcy’s music awakes the frozen Rogers and brings him back to life. 

 

As ghosts start appearing around the manor, Thane Natasha Romanoff finds herself bonding to two men, the heroic Lord Rogers and the assassin James Barnes. When Lord Anthony Stark escapes his captivity by the evil Sorcerer, his return brings him into the circle of heroes and the Sorcerer’s search awakens a long buried Lich lurking between Burosey and Barton Manor. It will take all of them working together to bring an end to the scourge of the undead that are unleashed by this villainous foe. 

  
  
  



	3. Who's Who and What's What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a handy list of who belongs where along with place names. It's just the major players. Hope this helps as we start on the fourth installment.

 

LORD NICHOLAS FURY (TARIAN CASTLE (MONS TUEORS)

Thane Maria Hill

Thane Philip Coulson (see Barton Manor)

Thane Darcy Lewis

Thane Peter Parker

Lady Jane Foster

Clay Quartermane, Guard Captain

Jasper Stilwell, Clerk

May Parker, Chatelaine

           

BARTON HALL (FRAISERTON)

Lord Clinton Barton

Lord Philip Coulson-Barton

Thane Natasha Romanov

Thane Carol Danvers, Captain of the Guard

Thane Jessica Drew

Thane Bruce Banner, Clerk of the Desert Order

William Kaplan, Page

Theodore Altman, Page

Nathaniel Richards, Page

Annamarie Dugan, Chatelaine

    Wanda Dugan, daughter

    Pietro Dugan, son

Dax, Head Cook

Andrew, Horse Whisperer

Samuel Wilson, Tinker

Luke Cage, Blacksmith

BARTON’S HOLDERS:

Laird Richard McCarter and Lady Melinda

    Henry “Hank” Pym, grandson

Laird Leo Huskey

Laird Orson Thomas

Laird James Fraiser

Laird Glen Ferguson

PEOPLE OF FRAISERTON

Mayor Garrett of Fraiserton

Madge the Appler

 

CAINE’S CROSS

Robert “Old Man” Singer

      Kevin Tran, Apprentice

      Katherine ‘Kitty’ Pryde, Apprentice

The Fergusons

The Donaldsons

OTHER LORDS OF THE MIDLANDS

Lord Anthony Stark

            Virginia Potts, Chatelaine

Thane James Rhodes

Happy Hogan, Head of the Guard

Thane Obediah Stane

Lord Reed Richards

            Lady Sue Richards

            Thane John Storm

Benjamin Grimm, Head of the Guard

Lord Vernon Van Dyne (deceased)

            Janet Van Dyne, daughter

Lady Emma Frost

Lord Charles Xavier

            Thane Eric Lensherr

Lord Steven Rogers & Company (Pre-Era)

            Thane James Barnes

 

ASGARD

King Odin

Queen Freya

Prince Loki

Prince Thor

Princess Mielikki

Lady Sif, Shield-maiden

Fandral

Volstagg

Bernerd, Loki’s valet

 

THE MEN OF LETTERS

Robert Singer, Caine’s Cross

Dean Winchester

Samuel Winchester

VILLAINS

The Red Knight

Lord Tarleton

The Red Sorcerer (Pre-Era)

Victor Von Doom

Prince Loki

The Evil Sorcerer

# PLACES:

### IN LORD BARTON’S HOLDING:

Fraiserton

Fallow’s Meadow (North of Frasierton)

Grays House (North, near apple orchards)

Caine’s Cross

Donaldson’s Meadow (near Caine’s Cross)

Hawk’s Leap (Battle of Bavria, Hawk Mountain)

Howling Vale

Fraiser Abbey

Kirk’s Fallow (near Fraiserton)

Nelly’s Crossroads ( on Huskey land)

Lake Caldera/ Forbidden Lake

The Hills of Argoth

OTHERS:

The Capital

The University

Archives of Libgres

Mons Tueors (Fury)

Burosey (Stark)

The Burrows (Stark Land, Dugan’s burial place)

Islands in the Crimean Sea

Kingston Isle

Asaria

Juraz

Aimi Keys

Eastlands

Midlands

Southlands

Outer Isles

Kaywiss Island

Baisle

  



	4. Where Pirates All are Well-to-do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virginia Potts, Chatelaine of Lord Anthony Stark, is busy preparing for a Council of Lords. With Anthony still absent, hiding at Barton Manor with his new friends, Virginia is left to juggle all the details of a royal visit from King Donaldson and Prince Loki. Then there's Thane Obediah Stane who is none-too-secretly making plans to take over the Stark holding, not to mention rumors of attacks on coastal towns. Stories are just filtering into the city of Burosey of smaller holdings being left to fend for themselves against a mysterious force. In the middle of all of that, Lord Fury and Thane Maria Hill arrive early, and Virginia is swept off her feet by the gorgeous dark haired warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the Midlands! I've had parts of this chapter started for somewhile but I was working on A Wolf in the Fold and The Hills are Alive. Now I've gotten a burst of energy and the muse has hit, so I'm returning to this massive sprawling fantasy epic for the next installment. In this story, Phil, Clint and the others travel to Burosey for the Council of Lords, and trouble awaits them in the big city. A young, recently orphaned Kate Bishop is on her way to find Clint, Anthony Stark has to decide if he wants to take up the mantel of Lordship plus what to do about the fledgling bond growing between him and the threesome of Natasha, Steven, and James, and Virginia Potts and Maria Hill will find themselves in the very center of the storm as it finally hits. 
> 
> Oh, and there's a pirate ship with a sexy captain. And LOTS of sexy times. 
> 
> This story will be told from Clint, Phil, Antony, and Virginia's points of view. Thus why their relationship are all listed as the major ones. We'll see sexy times for all of them.

“Darren, I need you to get those extra stalls cleared out by the morning. No more excuses. The King’s Chamberlain always underestimates the number of the guests. Ranya, air out the Helchin wing top floor; I think Prince Loki and his entourage will enjoy the view.”

 

Virginia Potts, Head Chatelaine of the Castle Burosey, looked over the scroll in her hand, a long list of things to accomplish in the next day. Account books lay open, three scribes hard at work keeping up with the complex budget of the large holding. Organized chaos, that’s what her desk was; she knew precisely where every piece of information lay. Keeping track of details was her gift, planning and preparing on a large scale. Logistics of moving people and things came easy; she knew, at any given moment, exactly how many bags of potatoes to order, the number of foals due in the next season, and the yield to expect from the sell of berry preserves.

 

Burosey was the second largest holding of the Midlands, behind only King Donaldson’s own vast estates. The previous Lord Stark, gods rest his soul, had been a builder, a man with ideas and the energy to see them through. The holding had grown rich as he made alliances with other Lords, selling his advancements in metalsmithing and new designs for more efficient weapons. But for all of his intelligence and charm, Howard Stark was not a decision maker, preferring to rely upon advisors and friends to take care of the day-to-day needs of the holding. Court life was more his taste, endless parties and ladies in his bed. He married for land, a woman who understood the role of a Lady and loved fine clothing and jewelry. The parties expanded, the glittering elite coming to Stark Castle for holidays and lavish weekends. Beautiful and filled with elegance, Maria Stark was a well-loved, if remote, Lady of the Castle. When she gave Lord Howard a heir, everyone celebrated the enduring of the Stark line.

 

Anthony, their son, was a brilliant man, his genius far beyond even the Dons at the University. Left on his own by his parents, Anthony became the poor little prince, a lonely figure of a boy trotted out on formal occasions or roaming empty halls of a big castle. At least until he grew older and became a spoiled rich boy with little to do and lots of time to waste. She’d not been at the castle then, coming late to her job, but there were plenty of people willing to tell her tales of Anthony’s misbehaviors. Parties, drinking, women and men in a constant parade from his bed room; Anthony played while others ran the holding. At least, that’s what everyone believed. The truth, as Virginia found out through patience and acceptance, lay in a very different direction; Anthony’s brilliance left him with no equals, and his cold distant parents gave him no love.

 

When Howard and Maria died in a tragic accident, Anthony retreated to his workshop, only emerging for banquets and festivals. No one seemed willing to reach through the hard shell he’d built around him, an armor of indifference except for his oldest friend, James Rhodes, and Virginia herself. Even Anthony’s guardian, Obediah Stane, thought he was a wastrel, a figurehead to be trotted out on special occasions.

 

Everything changed when Anthony was kidnapped. Left bleeding in the hallway, Virginia had been the one to discover his ransacked rooms and the dark hooded fighters that spirited him away. Running straight to Thane Stane, she’d expected him to order up a troop to chase the villains down, only to be surprised by his inaction. Keep the news quiet, he ordered. Don’t scare the holders. In the end, with Rhodes at her side, she argued long enough to get a search party sent after him, but the kidnappers had too much of a head start. All Virginia could do was maintain the illusion that Anthony was off on a trip and keep doing her duties.

 

Although her prescribed role was running the castle, with Anthony absent she found herself making more and more of the decisions that kept the city and surrounding cotholds running. The Council might be filled with wealthy Lords who owed the Stark name fealty but they rarely bothered to hold court or answer petitions. It was Virginia that the people came to with their problems; she made suggestions and soothed feelings, keeping her words carefully vague. She was only a chatelaine, neither Lady nor Thane. The decisions were not hers to make even though she was the one responsible for ensuring all ran well. And she’d be the one to hear the complaints from the Lords if anything went wrong.

 

At least Anthony had been rescued and was safe; that word had come at the start of summer. Then another note, explaining he was helping the new Lord Barton cement his hold on his lands, an expedition that yielding a cache of ancient machinery, a temptation Tony couldn’t resist. Two weeks had turned to four, a month past into another month, harvest was upon them, and Lord Stark was yet to arrive. To say her patience was worn thin wouldn’t be true; Virginia had no patience left with Tony’s antics.

 

“Another missive from the Steward, Miss Potts.” Edwin Jarvis’ hair was white, but he stood tall despite his years of service to the Stark family. Stalwart and dependable, Jarvis had been her greatest support from the moment she took her position. “We are to expect the Asgardian Prince and his delegation; twenty-four in total and they will expect equal rooms to the King’s royal party.”

 

“Of course.” She sighed and put her hands on the desk. “And I’m sure Prince Loki will have a laundry list of needs. Well, nothing to be done about it but power ahead.”

 

“I’ve already ordered the South Tower to be opened and aired out, if that will suffice” Jarvis told her. He always was on the same page, often a step or two ahead of her. “Perhaps with new linens and drapery?”

 

“Aye, imported fabrics from Brisia. And assign dedicated maids and pages for each room; move some from the Fury’s wing. He always brings his own anyway.” She thought for a moment. “

“I’ll talk to Lady Phillips about borrowing her new chef, the one who makes those spiced tarts. Since the King brings his own kitchen team, we can offer the Prince something no one else has.”

 

“The Prince may try to steal her away,” Jarvis said.

 

“She’s seeing one of the guardsman, that nice young Warren. I doubt she’ll be lured away.” Decision made, she moved on to the next crisis. “Put Rosen in charge of the maids and pages; she’s ready to move up. I was going to use her for the King’s entourage, but it’s probably best if I have a stronger presence to soothe the waters.”

 

“Good.” Jarvis nodded. “I don’t like the way Loki deals with women; Rosen will be a perfect foil for the man’s charisma.” He paused. “Do you wish to send another missive to Lord Stark?”

 

“No. I’m tired of playing Tony’s game.” Virginia could see exactly what needed to be done. “Send one to Thane Rhodes. Tell him to get Tony home even if he has to tie him to his horse.”

Jarvis came as close as he ever did to smiling. “As you wish. I’ll see it leaves today.”

 

With all the arriving guests in the next two days, Virginia’ to do list was overflowing. If Rhodey couldn’t deliver Tony, she might have to put her work side and ride to Barton Manor herself. Reining in her growing temper at the thought of Tony’s lingering, she made a note to have the stable master reshoe her palfrey just in case she needed to make a quick visit north.

 

“Beggin’ your pardon.” One of the pages, a lad no more than eight, tugged at her sleeve. “There’s people coming. No badges, only riders, looking mighty tired.”

 

“Thank you, Herbert,” she said, dismissing him. With a sigh, she crossed the hall to the grand entry, mentally ticking off who the new arrivals could be. No one was expected until tomorrow, but that meant little to the noble court. They came and went as they pleased.

 

Through the main doors walked an imposing man, black leather riding coat billowing out behind him. A patch covered one eye, bald head gleaming in the light as Nicholas Fury strode into the hall, four guards behind him. Virginia cleared her throat and waited to greet him.

 

Welcome, my Lord, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” She courtesied and waved to the servants behind her. “We’ve given you the Tower rooms with a view of the mountains for your stay during the Council. I’m afraid the Walled Suite is being prepared for the King’s arrival, but the Tower is quite beautiful. Original stonework and Ely arched ceilings.”

 

“Lady Potts,” Fury said, handing off his gloves to his squire. “You keep a fine house. Wherever you put us will be more than satisfactory.”

 

“I wish all were as accommodating as you,” she replied, meaning the words. As powerful as Fury was, he remembered those who served; people mattered to him. “Would you like to freshen up from your journey?”

 

“I need to have words with Thane Stane. If you tell him I’ve arrived, he’ll want to see me,” Fury told her.

 

Virginia highly doubted that; Obediah Stane had no love for Nicholas Fury and didn’t hesitate to say so. According to the Regent of Burosey, the title Obediah had taken during Lord Anthony Stark’s kidnapping, Fury was power hungry, out to take over the adjacent holdings and grow his own wealth.  She laughed at that conceit; it was Obediah who had illusions of a new kingdom with himself as Lord.

 

“Jeffrey,” Virginia spoke to one of the young pages. “Please deliver Lord Fury’s message to Regent Stain. Francis, take Lord Fury to the West Wing Salon then send one of the girls up from the kitchen with refreshment while he waits.”

 

‘Maria,” Fury spoke to a person just coming through the main doors. “I’m going to find Stane; take care of the arrangements.”

 

Forest green hood uncovered dark hair, wayward tendrils escaping the band at the nape of the neck, clinging to the fabric as it fell away, creating a halo about the fine lines of her face.The simple leather armor -- a brown jerkin with a mail coif about her shoulders, supple pants with thigh high boots turned down to the knee -- and fighting sword hung on her belt revealed her as a fighter. For a second, Virginia forgot to breath as piercing blue eyes swept the room, taking in every detail before they settled on her. The sounds of the bustling castle fell away as Virginia fell into those pools, deep wells of intelligence, a spark of humor, and shadows of the past.  Like a perfect tally of numbers in a complex ledger, Virginia sensed things fall into place, adding together, arriving at a sum far more than the parts. She exhaled, and a calm fell over her, the next few days, weeks, months, years a pattern spread before her eyes.

 

“Lady Potts?” Jarvis spoke, breaking whatever spell was holding Virginia in place. “Perhaps you should see Lord Fury’s party to their rooms; I can handle things until you’re back.”

 

“I … yes, that’s a good idea.” Shaking herself mentally, she stepped forward. “Thane Hill. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

 

“I can say the same about you, Lady Potts. Anyone who can bring Anthony Stark under control has a unique gift,” Maria replied. The smile that lit her face unsettled Virginia’s stomach, flutters of awareness dancing along her spine.

 

“Most of what you hear about Lord Stark are merely rumors. I assure you, I’m a simple chatelaine.” The practiced line sounded hollow to Virginia’s ears; she’d grown tired of being the sole voice of support for Anthony. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your suites.”

 

An intense gaze pinned Virginia, her doubts and fears laid bare. “Of course,” Maria agreed with a nod of her head. “Washing of the dust of the road is welcome.”

 

Maybe if she kept two steps ahead, Virginia could regain her composure; her reputation rode on her unflappable nature. Keeping calm in the face of Anthony’s ever expanding crusade to make her lose it was difficult, but she’d never experienced anything like her response to the woman behind her. Maria Hill, the heir of Lord Fury, a woman who led an army, fought as well as any man, and commanded respect from her underlings. In her role in Burosey, Virginia kept mental files on all the major players in Midlands politics; a chatelaine had to know who was who if for nothing more than seating arrangements at banquets.

 

“Philip sent word the Barton delegation will be arriving late tomorrow,” Maria said, pulling even with Virginia. “He wanted me to pass the message along; their numbers are larger than expected.”

 

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing; Anthony would be with them, Rhodey would make sure of that. “I’m looking forward to meeting Lord Barton; I count your brother as a good friend and hope he’s doing well.”

 

“Clinton is a good man; I’ve never seen Philip so happy.” Maria’s smile was fond as she spoke of her brother. “They’re stronger together; seems the old stories are true.”

 

They arrived at the rooms set aside for Fury and his party. “So I hear,” she replied as she opened the door. “And Philip deserves it. He helped me many times since I took this position.”

 

The rest of the retinue streamed into their suite; Maria stopped by the door. “Philip does have a habit of doing that,” she said.

 

“I hope the space is sufficient. I’ll see to it that Philip’s party is close to you so you can catch up in the little free time you’ll have. If you need anything, please let me know.” Virginia made a move to go; Maria laid a hand on her forearm to stop her. The touch burned through the light cotton of Virginia’s sleeve and she bit back a gasp.

 

“If you have a moment, I’d love to learn about your work and training rotation system; we hired some new guards who speak very highly of it. Perhaps you could explain it to me one afternoon?” Maria asked.

 

Virginia’s voice fled and she felt the rush of heat that heralded a blush in her cheeks. Was Thane Hill flirting with her? Surely not. “I’d be glad to,” she managed to stutter out.

 

“Good. It’s a date.” Maria smiled before she turned and began issuing orders to her servants.

 

Hurrying back to her duties, Virginia absently rubbed her arm where the heat still prickled, unsure of what had just happened. Whatever her reaction was, she needed to bring it under control. The next few days were sure to be trying enough without adding a crush to her list of things to deal with.

* * *

 

Her stomach rumbled as the smell of stew wafted out of the kitchen and across the garden. Hidden behind a hedgerow, Kate Bishop’s knees trembled and she dashed tears from her eyes. Blisters rubbed at her ankles and on the balls of her feet; she was cold, hungry, and scared. And tired. So tired. When she closed her eyes to sleep, she saw the bodies and the blood; heard the cries and the voices of friends and family begging for their lives.

 

Slipping away had been the easy part; mercenaries blocked the road to Chasown, so she’d headed north to find a port. But everywhere she went, warriors in black were already there, searching towns and stationing themselves in every village. She spent the nights in the forest, up in a tree just like Buck had taught her, shivering and huddled tight, trying to stay warm. The small house she’d stumbled upon, putting one foot in front of the other on a thin path. Hunkering down, Kate had watched the red-headed woman come and go, from chicken coop to carrot patch to wood pile, her simple woolen dress dirty around the hem.

 

“Would you like something to eat?” The woman stood in the kitchen doorway, her gaze focused on Kate’s location. “I’d promise I’m not going to hurt you, but you have no reason to believe me yet. If it helps, I’m a clerk, a follower of Pythia.”

 

Kate bit her finger, unsure what to do. The woman didn’t look like those who had attacked her home, and Kate was so very hungry.

 

“I can help you get to Burosey. That’s where you need to go, right? North to find someone named … Barton?” She tilted her head as if listening to something far away. “You need a ship and I know where one is that’s headed that direction.”

 

An adult’s help was too good to resist, not to mention the growl her belly made. Easing forward, Kate pushed through the bush, stepping into the yard. Crossing her arms across her chest, she waited to see what the woman would do. “I can’t go into town,” she half stuttered.

 

“The Red Knight’s men. Yes, I understand.” She smiled, crouching down so her face was level with Kate’s.  “My friend is the first mate of a ship harbored near here. She’s coming to supper; you can meet her and see what you think.”

 

Thinking about it for a moment, Kate nodded. Clerks of Pythia were sworn to do no harm; they were often called upon for advice and predictions.

 

“Good,” the woman said, standing up. “My name’s Jean. What’s yours?”

 

“Kate,” she answered.

 

“Well, Miss Kate, let’s get you washed up. I think I have an old cloak we can cut down to keep you warm. Then we’ll fill your stomach.” Jean walked to the door. “Oro’s ship won’t leave until high tide later tonight.”

 

Following the woman inside, Kate hoped she hadn’t made a mistake.


	5. Away to the Cheating World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Anthony are dragging their feet but Dean brings news that forces their hand. The King calls and they have to answer, even if that means putting themselves in danger.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate court?” Clint complained, drawing the string back and notching another arrow. He’d been shooting since the command, thinly veiled as an invitation, had arrived at the manor. The King requests the honor of your presence was written in a flourished script with the details of the King’s progress and a Council of Lords in Burosey. A week of politics and remembering titles and itchy jackets and pointed comments and arrogant nobles and watching his back. “You’re much better at royal intrigue; you can be my proxy.” 

 

Natasha caught his hand as he reached into his quiver. “Enough. You’ll make your fingers bleed,” she said, rubbing her thumb into the knot in his palm. “And you don’t have a choice. It’s your duty as the Lord of Barton Hold to represent your people. The anti-war faction will do everything they can to downplay the potential danger; you know how Loki can manipulate people.” Her fingers worked into the pressure point in the fleshy part at the base of Clint’s thumb; he sighed as his headache began to recede. “You and Phil defied the king’s order then Darcy did the same with Bruce. He’s going to want you to kneel and declare your fealty in front of everyone.”

 

“Loki’s going to try something.” Clint was sure the Asgardian had ulterior motives; even though Clint knew Loki was working with the Midlands’ enemies, the King was under Loki’s sway, enamoured with his charisma. “I’ve got a bad feeling about the whole thing.”

 

“Of course he’s going to use the Council to further his agenda,” she agreed. “And I doubt he’s the only one who will be working in their own favor. I hear rumors that there are Lords trading with the Red Knight, even selling weapons. We’ve been at peace too long; people have forgotten the evil that humans can do.”

 

Clint unstrung his bow and checked the curve of wood before he put it away then he went to gather his arrows. The last three months had been quiet enough that Clint knew it couldn’t last. The roof had gone on the new wing and the extra space was a blessing; even with Natasha, Steven, and James in their own house, the manor had been straining at the seams. Prince Thor was only now planning to return to their home in Asgard; Jane was going with him to meet her future mother-in-law, Queen Frigga.  Clint’s sister-in-law, Darcy, had planned to travel with them for moral support, but the King wanted her and her new husband, Cleric Bruce Banner, to make an appearance as well. So Jessica Drew, one of Clint’s most trusted thanes, was taking her place; the fact that Jessica was bonding with Fandral was another reason for her to represent Jane’s family in the negotiations. Then there were the Winchester brothers who had brought their knowledge as Men of Letters and hunters; Samuel spent most of his days with Carol, the head of the guard, the two of them clearly sliding into their own bond.

 

When he’d returned to his family home to take up the title and responsibilities of Lord, Clint had found a house in disrepair, a town filled with people who’d suffered terrible losses, and a shadowy enemy ready to move on the Midlands. He arranged a marriage to Philip Coulson for money he brought and the protection of Lord Nicholas Fury.  Falling in love with the competent and very sexy man was a surprise; bonding with Phil was something out of legends and romances. But he counted every morning he woke in his big four poster bed, wrapped in his husband’s arms, as a perfect way to start his day. 

 

“The Sorcerer will use our absence as a reason to attack.” Years as a mercenary troop leader had taught Clint to alway be prepared for the worst.  They’d already turned away attacks both here and at Laird Fraser’s  hold; leaving the manor was an open invitation. 

 

“I’ll be sure and tell Carol you don’t think she can handle the job.” Natasha followed him over to the weapons cabinet and leaned against the wall as he checked over the arrows before storing them in their proper places, separating out the ones that needed refletching or sharpening. “She’ll have some words for you.”

 

“That’s what Phil said.” Actually, Clint’s husband had been nicer about it than Natasha, but he agreed with the sentiment. Clint closed the cabinet door and started walking back to the manor, Natasha falling into stride with him. “Of course, I know Carol is capable; hell, with the guard we have now, she could mount a more than credible defense. I just don’t like being moved around like game pieces on a board.”

 

They passed by the guard quarters, the building already an integral part of the landscape even though it was only six months old. An area near one of the doors had been cleaned away of vegetation, and a heavy wooden table sat under a tree with a stone pathway leading down to the creek. A rope swung out over one of the deeper pools and someone had notched steps into the bank, lining them with rocks. With the summer warmth, the evenings were filled with music and laughter as guards mingled with servants and townsfolk over food and drinks. 

 

On top of the hill, the grey limestone walls of the manor rose straight and tall, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Like they did in his childhood memories, banners fluttered across the front aspect, the blue stars of the Midlands, the plaid of the Frasers, and the purple and black bow of Clint’s own troop. New slate tiles layered over the roof, not a single one missing. The battlements were repaired, the inner bailey walkway manned by a full complement of guards. A half begun gateway for the outer bailey wall was encased in scaffolding as workers interlocked the cut stones to make the arch. 

 

From this vantage, the curved windows of the library reflected the light, the apex of the weaving shed’s roof visible beyond the garden wall. If Clint hadn’t known which was which, he’d never tell the difference between old and new. The architect had done an exceptional job bringing the old style of Clint’s grandparents’ era and updating it for their new needs. Not to mention ,having indoor plumbing was rare in the Capitol; the shower with heated water was one-of-a-kind. And Clint enjoyed the warm wash, especially when Phil joined him. 

 

“I have to admit,” Natasha said, a gentle smile on her lips. “I didn’t expect things to work out this well.” 

 

“You mean both of us being married?” Clint teased. If his union with Phil was a surprise, Natasha’s bonding to Steven and James would have been unthinkable. The quintessential spy, Natasha was Clint’s closest and oldest friend; seeing her sharing her life with the two men was more than satisfying. “Didn’t see that one coming.” 

 

She didn’t answer, only raised an eyebrow. They stepped off the road to avoid a wagon filled with late summer peaches and bushels of strawberries; Annamarie had most of the staff at work making preserves, jams, and jellies. Drying fruit was spread out in the gardens, tubs of salt water filled with slices of the last of the apples. She’d mobilized like she was planning for a long winter; the stores were already three times the size of last year. Clint couldn’t complain; he was going to be eating her fried pies at Yule time.

 

Hooves sounded on the earth as a black horse rode up from the direction of town. The brown haired rider pulled on the reins and slowed as he drew even with them. “I bring news,” Dean Winchester said. “And you’re not going to like it.” He’d been gone for the last two weeks on a job, chasing down a story about boggarts in a river near Bosmore. 

 

“We’ll meet in the small dining room,” Clint replied. “Tell Philip to send word. Best to wait until everyone is gathered so you don’t have to repeat yourself.”

 

Dean nodded and spurred his horse on up the hill. With a sigh, Clint resumed walking, Natasha silent beside him. The pattern was set, or so it seemed, of happiness in his personal life and crisis after crisis from beyond the walls of the manor. So many competing forces at work, all spiraling into a building storm that was battering away at the outer defenses. For every battle they won, another face stepped up to oppose them. Loki and the Red Knight and the Sorcerer, stirring up old evils buried from ages past. Clint had no idea what news Dean was bringing, but he was sure it would challenge them all. 

 

“You’ve got time to wash up,” Annamarie told him when he entered the main hallway. “Carol’s on her way back from her inspection of the Northern wall garrison, and Bruce and Samuel are in the work room. I’ll have food ready by then.”

 

“Are you suggesting I’m smelly?” Clint smiled as he ribbed his childhood friend. She might run the manor like a general maneuvered troops, but Clint remembered how she’d been the first one in line for trouble when they were little scamps.. 

 

“You’ve been out in the sun for hours. Philip might like your musky odor, but you’llt put others off their supper.” With a wink, she kept walking, swishing her skirts across the clean floor. 

 

“I only think I’m Lord of this manor,” Clint muttered. “We all know who really runs this place.”

 

“And thank the gods for that.” Natasha elbowed him. “Go change. Dax made that cold melon soup you like so much.”

 

He jogged up the staircase, purposefully not looking at the balcony where he’d fallen and almost died. Remembering the ghost of his father pushing him over the edge wasn’t on today’s agenda; Clint was just happy that the ghosts had disappeared after they’d put the lich back to rest.  

 

Taking a left into the new wing, Clint made his way to the double doors of the Master’s suite; he draped his vest over the back of one of the chairs by the bay window.  Philip liked to read on the new settee, wide enough for both of them and covered in soft purple fabric. Tradition was the Lord and Lady had separate bedrooms, joined by an antechamber, but they’d eschewed proprietary and built two large rooms with a great stone fireplace open to both the sitting area and the sleeping room. Passing through the adjoining doorway, Clint paused to take off his boots, using the long bench at the end of the massive bed to sit, dropping them underneath. His shirt went next, tossed into the wicker bin for laundry and then he was in the bathing room where he ran some water through the piping and washed his face and arms with soap. The copper tub by the fireplace was empty, ready for the next bath; the rain shower was shuttered by a wavy glass door specially made and fitted to the space. The whole room was luxury like Clint had only seen in 

villas in the Outer Isles; all this was thanks to young Henry Pym, one of the Laird McCarter’s grandsons, who had a gift for mechanical things. And Philip, of course. He was a master negotiator, giving artisans chances to ply their trade and using every local resource while making sure the town and manor people had what they needed. 

 

Removing the plug from the sink, Clint dried off his face as the water drained, hanging up the towel when he was finished. Padding back into the bedroom, he saw a pair of black leather pants and vest laying on the bed along with a clean white shirt. 

 

“I still think dressing for dinner is too pretentious.” An old argument, Clint mostly brought it up just to agitate Philip. It was a mandatory requirement for a husband to keep his spouse humble. “We’re in the frozen hinterlands not the royal court.” 

 

“Pardon me for not wanting to smell sweat and mud and horse shit while I eat.” Philip strolled across the room, already in his dinner clothes. He looked good; he’d gained extra muscle training with the Clint and the other thanes. His vest fit close, his shirt open at the collar, pants snug across his thighs. Beauty wasn’t a word usually used for men, but Clint knew his husband was beautiful in both spirit and body. “Now, off with those dirty pants.” 

 

Clint couldn’t resist that opening; he closed the distance between them and caught Phil by the waist, dragging him closer. “That’s going to make us late,” he said, dipping his head and kissing the side of Philip’s neck. “But I’ll have a tray brought up and we can eat in bed.”

 

“And Dean’s news?” Philip didn’t pull away; he started untying the laces on Clint’s pants, his fingers deliberately teasing. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to know what he learned.”

 

“I can wait.” Clint bumped their hip together and nipped at Philip’s war. “I’ll always take you first.” 

 

Philip shook his head. “Flattering as that is, we can have dinner, hear Dean’s news and then spend as much time as we want in our nice big bed.” Still, Philip didn’t stop gently brushing along the line of Clint’s cock. 

 

“Counter offer. We do this quick, eat, hear the news, and then I take you apart piece by piece in the shower and the bed.” Clint unbuttoned Philip’s vest and slipped a hand under his waistband. “A fast release will put me in a better mood.” 

 

“Un-huh.” Philip pushed Clint’s pants down over his hips and began to stroke the hardening length. “So you’ll quit griping about going to Burosey?”

 

“Oh, hell no.” Clint’s words caught on a quiet groan as Philip’s palm tightened. “I’m going to milk that for all …” He cut off as Philip twisted his wrist and wring a moan from Clint. “If that’s how you’re going to play … fast it is.” 

 

He didn’t last long; the bond brought him to the edge quickly, magic swirling up around them. He came between one breath and the next, channeling the music he heard into the hot kisses. PHil’s energy surrounded him and then Phil followed him over the edge, the power buoying up Clint, taking away his doubts. Tilting forward, he rested his forehead on Philip’s, breathing in and out in harmony. 

 

“Okay, you win that round.” Clint brushed a kiss across Philip’s lips. “But just wait until later.”

 

“Somehow, I think we’ll both be happy with the outcome,” Philip promised. 

 

The small dining room was filled when they got there, almost every chair at the main oval table taken. Clint took his place at the end; a bowl of cool melon soup appeared in front of him, Darcy passed a platter of yeasty brown bread, and Phil sat down next to him. 

 

“You can go in my place,” Anthony Stark was saying. “I’ll stay here and work on the armor. I can do without those nabobs from the court and all the yes men that tag along with them.” 

 

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a good idea,” James Barnes replied. “Considering how many nobles were in my sights over the years.” 

 

“Probably keep them in line,” Anthony shot back. “They’re used to being the most powerful person in the room; it would do them good to run scared.”

 

“You’ve neglected your duties too long already,” James Rhodes said, grabbing another piece of bread to dip in his soup. “Pepper’s going to have your balls for leaving her to deal with this on her own.”

 

“Yet another reason to stay here.” Anthony took the first slice of roast beef swimming in savory juices as the platter circulated around the table. “I’ll make her my heir and appoint her Lady in my place. There. Problem solved.”

 

“I can’t imagine throwing anyone into that pack of wolves,” Darcy added to the conversation. “Sharp tongues and even sharper knives -- that’s the royal court.” 

 

None of the talk made Clint feel any easier about going to Burosey; he was a mercenary, not a courtier. Last thing he wanted to do was scrape and bow while parsing every single word. “If I have to go, so do you, Tony,” Clint declared. “Share the pain.” 

 

“Lady Frost is going to eat you alive,” Anthony said with a snort. “You’re just her type. Don’t let her get too close; rumor is she can freeze your balls with a touch.”

 

“Nah, but she might make them burn.” Dean snagged the crispy potatoes and scooped a pile on his plate. “I think she’s slept with almost every lord and half the ladies.” 

 

“Don’t look at me,” Anthony said when eyes turned his way. “I’ve never touched her; I’ve got more brains than that.” 

 

“At the risk of raising the level of conversation, maybe it’s time to hear Dean’s news?” Phil interrupted the banter to ask. 

 

“Thank you,” Carol said “Notice how it’s always a woman whose name gets bandied about. I never hear anyone talk about Lensherr.” 

 

“Aw, now, Erik’s not that bad,” Anthony protested. “If you can get past the stick up his …”

 

“As Dean was saying,” Clint interjected, talking over Anthony. “It’s not good news, is it?” 

 

Swallowing a bit of beef, Dean took the hint. “I ran into a Man of Letters at a tavern on the road; Gordon had been at the University recently and was spreading the latest directives from the Headmaster.  All their members are being ordered to report anyone who shows signs of unusual skills or talents, especially if the word ‘magic’ is being bandied around. Gathering information, they say, to understand what’s happening; more like building a list of people to watch.”

 

“That’s to be expected,” Bruce said. “It’s how they do things; amass data and prepare for all eventualities.” Bruce’s hand shook slightly, a tiny tinge of green around his fingers, but he kept his berserker under control. Any memory of his time captured by the Men of Letters was enough to set off his rage. A quick touch by Darcy’s palm and Bruce visibly calmed. 

 

“Gordon said many students are leaving at the end of this term,” Dean continued. “The study of any non-approved subject has become dangerous. There’s even a rumor of murder and imprisonment; a professor who was once a member but had a falling out with the current Head Master died recently under suspicious circumstances. His young daughter was under the care of approved guardians but she was removed to the tower on the campus. At first, she played in the gardens and was seen in the dining hall;  now, she’s confined to the top three floors. The prevailing theory is that she has a profound talent and her father was trying to develop it.” 

 

“Any idea who?” Philip asked. “I know a few of the more liberal thinkers there.” 

 

“Van Dyne,” Dean answered. “A recluse, according to most students.”

 

“I never met Vernon, but he was well-known among the mechanical faculty,” Bruce said. “Odd duck, but brilliant.” 

 

“Janet Van Dyne.” Clint had made a promise to help her, one he intended to keep. “That’s the daughter’s name.” 

 

“Yes.” Dean gave Clint an odd glance, but he was getting used to the strangeness that was Barton Manor. “And you haven’t heard the end of the story. Gordon says the girl up and disappeared one night, right from her bedroom with only one small window and a locked door with guards on the stairs. One student stumbling home from a tavern swears he saw a black figure ooze up the side of the Tower, and, since everyone knows the sides are too smooth to climb, he claims it was a demon.” 

 

“Too smooth to climb.” Darcy looked at Philip. “I know someone who could do it.”

 

“It would be just like your brother to take matters into his own hands,” Philip agreed with a sigh. “I did ask Peter to keep an eye out for her.”

 

“If it’s him, he’ll come here,” Clint assured Philip. 

 

“Dragging more trouble behind him.” Philip put down his spoon. “I’ll warn Annamarie to have rooms made up. I wonder if Hank is with them; who am I kidding? Of course he is.” 

 

“We’ll deal with it just like everything else,” Clint said.

 

“I’ll deal with it,” Carol corrected. “You’re going to Burosey, remember?”

 

“Speaking of rumors,” Sam Wilson offered. “There’s strange movement along the trade route from Burosey through the inland sea. Merchants are being warned off of traveling around the Cape; news of attacks on some of the smaller fiefdoms is scaring a lot of those who would traditionally be bound for the Council to sell their wares. Big wagons with strong guards, unaffiliated with any Lord or trades group. Something’s up.” 

 

“The Bishops were hit,” Dean supplied. “No survivors, if the tale is true.” 

 

“Preparation for a large assault,” Thor spoke. “A feint from the sea and another from the East would trap a number of your armies against the mountains.” 

 

“Where the Sorcerer could swoop down and finish them off.”  With so many refusing to see the truth, the Midlands would be easy pickings. Clint shivered at the thought. “We should warn everyone, send riders and aid. Those without walls are welcome within ours.”

 

“I’ll leave instructions about temporary housing, talk to the mayor; those without family here will have a roof and warmth if it comes to that,” Philip agreed. 

 

“Damn it all,” Anthony muttered. “Someone has to be working on the inside; those wagons aren’t loaded with apples, I’ll bet you that. We’ve got to figure out who. And that means going home.” 

 

“Don’t worry.” Steven put his hand on Anthony’s; a tremor of power ran through the threads of magic that linked them all. “You won’t be alone; Philip’s forcing Clint to go too.” 

 

“Great,” Clint said. “Now everyone’s in on it.” 

* * *

 

They stopped at Caine’s Cross the second night; Bronwyn Ferguson made enough stew to feed all of them and insisted on packing meat pies this next morning. Traveling light compared to Anthony’s usual standards, he enjoyed the breeze on his face as he listened to the chatter around him. HIs world had been silent for a long time, he was coming to realize, long hours in his workshop, isolated and alone. Truth was, he’d always been alone; the only child left in the the care of a series of guardians, his parents too busy with their lives to care about his. People always wanting something from him, never seeing him as anything more than a means to an end. 

 

“Falling asleep in the saddle?” Steven asked. Damn man looked just as good after almost four days on the trail as he always did. Sweat rolled down Anthony’s face, his hair soaked at the nap of his neck, and fingernails collecting grime. “You and Singer were out late.” 

 

A nice way to say Anthony had finished off a bottle of whiskey with the old man. Good thing he was used to riding with a hangover; he’d had lots of practice. “Thinking about lunch,” he lied with the ease born from years of practice. Never show fear or doubt, always be sarcastic and irreverent. “About time for you to eat isn’t it? Don’t you have to feed those muscles every few hours or lose them?” 

 

The pointed comment didn’t stick; Steven ignored his terrible attempt at humor like he always did. Anthony liked that about the knight; very little riled his temper. “I am feeling peckish, now that you mention it. But we’re eating in the saddle, remember? That way we’ll make Burosey before nightfall.” 

 

“Ah, yes.” Last thing Anthony wanted was to see the spires of his own castle; the only greeting awaiting him there was Pepper’s glare and Obediah’s stony face. If he could, he’d stay at Barton Manor, puttering in his workshop, sharing dinner with people who didn’t care a whit about who he was. No bowing or scraping or prying eyes; Annamarie was as likely to scold him as she was Clint, the Lord of the manor. Anthony liked being treated the same as everyone else. “You know, there’s this amazing waterfall not more than two days ride north. Pours from a hot spring and is reputed to be therapeutic. We could swing by, everyone get naked, soak for awhile. You know, prepare ourselves.” 

 

“I’m for it,” Bruce agreed, turning his head to look back. Like Anthony, the idea of being a performing animal for the pleasure of the King didn’t sit well with Bruce either. Although Bruce was more likely to be dangled on a string and made to dance for going against the King’s wishes and marrying Darcy. Not that Anthony blamed him; Darcy cut one fine figure and was smart as a whip as well. She and Pepper were going to get along very well. “Going to be hard to keep my calm as it is.”

 

“See? It’s decided. We’ll take the fork at Marinelli Mere, be back in a week or so.” He held no hope for a detour, but it never hurt to try. 

 

“No dice, Stark,” Philip called from the front of the line. “Tonight I’m sleeping in a soft bed.” 

 

Anthony snorted loudly. “Sleeping. Right.” 

 

His only response was a glimmer of a smile from Steven. 

 

They rode through the small outlying hamlets as the markets were closing down, merchants packing up and heading home for the evening. Despite the growing number of people on the road, no one gave them more than a passing glance. Without formal court wear, they looked more like a mercenary troop than visiting nobility. Even Anthony escaped noticed all the way to the outer gate of the castle, the hood of his traveling cloak pulled up to hide his familiar features. The head of the duty guard stopped them at the portcullis to ask their business. Clint spoke for his retinue, and the guard, a grizzled old veteran Anthony remembered from his practice days, nodded for them to continue. Only when Anthony lowered his hood, did the man recognize him, a startled look coming over his face. 

 

“Lord Stark!” he said, amazed. “We had no idea … there’s been no word … you’re alive!” 

 

“The news of my demesne has been greatly exaggerated,” Anthony drawled, a tiny part of him happy to have been missed by anyone. “I hear there’s a big party going on; couldn’t miss the King’s visit to my own house.” 

 

“Of course, my Lord. Please forgive me for holding you up. I’ll send runners ahead to be sure your rooms are ready. Lady Potts will be so pleased, if you don’t mind me saying; she’s been running herself ragged keeping things in order for you.” He waved at one of the pages loitering near the stables; as soon as the boy realized what news he was delivering, he took off at breakneck speed for the inner bailey. “It’s good to have you home, sir.” 

 

“Thank you, Carlson.” He pulled the man’s name from his memory. “Keep a strong watch.” 

 

“We will, my Lord,” the guard promised. 

 

The word spread like fire, jumping from one group to the next, a race to see who would be the first to tell the gathering nobles of Anthony’s return. Thank the gods that Pepper already knew; she’d never forgive him if she’d learned of his survival through a scullery maid’s whisper. The further they rode into the outer rings of walls, the more people gathered to watch his passing, some even breaking out in cheers. That worried Anthony; if they were this happy to see him, what had happened while he was gone?

 

At the great doors, solid oak hand carved three generations ago with the Stark family sigils, triangles inside circles with outer spokes, they dismounted. For once Anthony was happy for Philip’s need to over plan; they’d already decided in what order to enter and stories to cover all of them. 

 

He thought he was ready, but the first sight of Pepper’s strawberry blonde hair and her trim figure caused a painful twist in his chest. His magic flared beneath his linen shirt and leather jerkin; her eyes flickered down, not missing the tint of blue that leaked out for only a breath. Then he slipped his mask firmly in place and sauntered, slouching his shoulders to walk lazily forward. 

 

“Lady Potts,” Clint said with a slight incline of his head. “We thank you for your hospitality.” 

 

“Lord Barton.” She curtsied, lower as befit her position. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard good things about you and all you’ve accomplished.” She offered her hand; Clint squeezed her fingers and smiled. “And you’ve certainly made Philip happy. He’s practically glowing.” 

 

“I believe the truth is the other way around. He’s been a blessing to me,” Clint told her. 

 

“Phil.” Virginia Potts turned and opened her arms, Philip hugging her in return. “Marriage agrees with you. And he’s so very handsome,” she added in a fake whisper. 

 

“Yes, he is,” Philip agreed, a fond look for his husband. “It’s good to see you again too.” 

 

“This must be Natasha Romanova.” Virginia moved on, nodding to Natasha. “And you’re Dean Winchester, one of the Men of Letters.”  Dean’s eyebrows rose; he took her hand and accepted her kiss on his check. “Your and your allies are always welcome here.” 

 

“Pepper.” Darcy stepped forward, relieving Dean’s awkward attempts at reply. “I hope your merchants are ready; I have some shopping to do. I missed out on a trousseau.” 

 

Virginia laughed. “I shall put them on high alert,” she replied, hugging Darcy as well. 

 

“And this is my husband, Clerk Bruce Banner.” Darcy tugged Bruce’s sleeve, urging him forward. “You’ll have to forgive him; he’s used to hiding like a hermit in his workshop.” 

 

“Now that I’m used to,” Virginia said. “I can’t wait to get to know the man who is worthy of Darcy.” 

 

“Not sure about that,” Bruce replied. “She’s incomparable.” 

 

“Oh, and you’ve trained him already!” Virginia said with a smile. 

 

She greeted James Rhodes with a smile and hug, but when she turned to Steve, Anthony stepped in. “I understand you’re angry, but surely you have a hug for you long lost boss?” 

 

Hands on her hips, she slowly surveyed him, taking in his simple worn boots and his second hand clothes, crinkling her nose at his facial hair he’d let grow. “A hug is not what I had in mind,” she replied tartly. “While you’ve been away, I’ve been running your fiefdom. I think I deserve at least a thank you, although some word you were alive would have been nice.”

 

“Thank you, Lady Potts. I’d be lost without you.” He opened his arms. “You’ve done a wonderful job of not burning down the castle.” 

 

“Tony.” Virginia sighed. “You are such a dick.” 

 

Her body fit perfectly as she stepped into his hold, pressed tightly against him, a reminder that here was someone who loved him exactly as he was, without reservation. Someone who handled his eccentricities, dealt with his bad behaviors, and never left. 

 

“Gods, I missed you Pep,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m so sorry.” 

 

“Just don’t do it again,” she warned in return, her eyes a little watery as she pulled away. “And who did you bring home with you? Gathering more mouths for us to feed?” 

 

“Steven and James.” Anthony nodded to each, careful to not use their full names. “I seemed to have misplaced my guards so I hired new ones.” 

 

“Very good, Lord Stark.” Virginia motioned to a woman standing behind her. “We’ll have your rooms freshened; yours are already prepared Lord Barton and Lord Coulson. I’ll show you up myself.” 

 

She dismissed Anthony by turning on her heel and leaving him standing. Such a familiar response … Virginia brooked none of Anthony’s antics and never had. Her disdain at his long absence went a long way to settling the servants and others who were listening in through half-open doors. In short order, the word would spread that he’d been off on another bender, and from there the tales would grow. Drinking his way across the kingdom, renting out whorehouses, sleeping with Lords and peasants and everyone inbetween: Anthony’s legendary status as the Midlands biggest playboy would do the rest of the work for them. It didn’t matter that most of the stories were nowhere near the truth; a reputation, once retold in song, was impossible to remove. 

 

Natasha nodded to Steve and James as she followed Virginia; the pang of remorse at separating the newlyweds pricked Anthony’s conscious. Even though everyone agreed that, after the kidnapping, he needed more protection, Anthony felt like a shoe horn, wedging himself between bonded couples … triples … triad … trio … what did one call three married people? Only a few weeks after they’d moved into their own cottage, had a modicum of privacy, Steve and James were going to be constantly on watch and Natasha staying with Clint and Phil. Once again, trouble flowed from him to bother those he called friends; that, it seemed, was Anthony’s true talent. 

 

“It appears we’re on our own.” Anthony plastered a smile on his face and waved a hand towards the stairs. “I, for one, could use a hot bath and a glass of port. Shall we?” 

  
  



	6. When I Sally Forth to Seek My Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Called to answer to the King for their actions, Philip, Clint, Darcy, and Bruce hear the verdicts. Anthony takes matters into his own hands and changes the subject. And a plot is revealed. Danger lurks in Burosey Castle, and the heroes have to be very careful if they're to survive.

Waiting was always the hardest part of Court appearances. Dressed to the hilt in rarely used finery, Philip quashed the urge to run a finger around the collar of his quilted jacket; it really wasn’t too tight, it was just his own nerves that made it hard to catch a full breath. Beside him, Clint didn’t bother hiding how uncomfortable he was, adjusting the black leather jacket and shifting from foot to foot. The fact his husband looked devastatingly handsome in the simple ensemble they’d agreed upon went a long way to distract Philip’s mind from the worst case scenarios he was spinning. Knowing that, after this little command performance, he was going to peel each one of the expertly tailored items off Clint’s muscular frame until just bare skin remained kept Philip’s feet firmly rooted in place. Deal with the King then get his reward. 

 

Behind them in the receiving line, Darcy was at her finest, turning her cheek to the women who gave her the cut; marrying a clerk was a step downwards on the social hierarchy and thus simply not done. That Darcy shown with an inner glow, her happiness evident to all eyes that were drawn to her beautiful forest green gown and plunging neckline. Bruce, on the other hand, looked as if he would rather be anywhere else; only long deep breaths and Darcy’s touch enabled him to negotiate the emotions that bombarded him. Occasionally, his brown eyes would widen, once flicking up to Philip and back down quickly, as he caught bits and pieces of the tidal sensitivities the Court routinely engendered. Leaning to Darcy, he murmured something in her ear and she nodded in return, weaving her fingers tighter with his. 

 

The royal retinue had arrived just this afternoon; Philip barely had time to visit Virginia in her office before the news of their sighting reached her ears. With the Council starting in two days, tonight would be the informal banquet while tomorrow night was the Grand Council feast, and King Donaldson had made it clear he wanted no time wasted bringing Philip and Darcy to bear for their violation of his wishes. The facts of the matter were moot; never mind that neither offer of marriage from Loki had ever been officially extended. No, the King had made his preference known and they had disobeyed by making other arrangements. Of course, the whole Court knew what had transpired, so the main hall was filled with faces, those wanting a glimpse at the new spouses, those hoping to see a dressing down by the King, and those looking for chinks in the armor of all sides. Politics, as usual, ran rampant wherever nobles gathered. 

 

“Lord Clinton Francis Barton and his husband, Lord Philip Coulson-Barton.”  

 

Steeling himself, Philip walked into the empty center of the room, Clint keeping perfect step. He gathered his magic around him, using it to calm himself; faint echoes of Clint’s music under rode the tapping of their boot heels, adding a firm foundation. Whatever happened, they had each other, and that was more than enough. Dropping into a deep bow, Philip held the pose for the requisite time then stood up, eyes forward. 

 

Since the last time he’d seen the King, Donaldson had lost weight. Always a robust man, folds of skin hung about him now like lackluster ruffles on a poorly made dress. His face was caked with makeup that couldn’t hide the pallor beneath, and his expensive purple velvet cloak only made him look smaller. At his right, Loki sat on a lower step, a plump pillow beneath him. Perhaps it was Philip’s own magic or the fact he’d seen Loki in very different circumstances, but the Asgardian prince looked … brittle as a bone tea cup. Drop him and he’d shatter to bits. 

 

“Come closer,” the King commanded, motioning them onto the steps of the raised platform where he held court. “I would see this man who is worth more than a princedom.” 

 

The flexing of his jaw was the only sign Clint took offence at the choice of words. Beyond all the words of warning, Philip’s promise to never leave him was what it took to assure Clint that the King couldn’t hurt them. That and a week at a lodge near a hot spring with no work to be done. 

 

“So, Philip. Have you an explanation for your hasty marriage?” Donaldson asked. 

 

At one point, the man had been a decent king. A hunter at heart, he’d come to the throne young and been both charming and easygoing. Only as he grew older did bitterness creep in as first one then another young wife died trying to give him a son. He turned to drink and gaming and now he was but a shadow of that handsome youth. 

 

“I did but do my duty to my Lord,” Philip answered. “Lord Fury arranged the union and I complied.” 

 

“So I hear.” Donaldson shifted in the gilded chair, a look of distaste crawling across his face. His ear had been poisoned against Nicholas; anything Fury did was suspect. “You knew nothing of the Prince’s suit?” 

 

“I was informed, your majesty, but Lord Fury had made a prior contract and he is a man of his word. Thus, I was given to Lord Barton.” Philip had to argue to use that passive phrase; Clint insisted nobody gave anyone, but the old fashioned term was meant to soothe an old-fashioned king.

 

“I’m expected to believe you didn’t argue? Just mounted on your horse and rode to the godforsaken hinterlands to marry a minor lordling?”

 

Clint’s spine straightened and he clenched his hands into fists at the description of his manor and holding. Philip answered quickly before Clint could speak. “I will admit to having some questions about my future, your majesty. One can only expect to wonder about their spouse when married by proxy. Fortunately, Lord Barton has been all I could hope for and much more; his holding is filled with strong and courageous people who need my skills to help rebuild and improve Barton Manor. Our location makes us a perfect first line of defense as well as welcoming destination, being so close to the pass to Asgard.” 

 

The King’s mouth twisted at the gentle reminder of Prince Thor’s recent stay at Barton Manor; Loki, however, hid a small smile as Philip’s parry worked. 

 

“He is handsome, I’ll give you that. But is the sex so good, you’d rather stay in a drafty old house than be a Prince Consort in Asgard?” At Donaldson’s bluntness, a few titters of disapproval ran around the room. Only so much could be forgiven by age. 

 

“Indeed it is,” Philip replied, just as bluntly. “We are well-matched in our bedroom appetites.” A few outright chuckles came from the watchers. 

 

It was Clint’s turn to duck his head to hide his cheeky grin. The King noticed the action. “And you, Lord Barton. I am well within my rights to remove you and your people from the protection of the Midlands. Or banish you both and give the holding to another. Is marriage to this glorified accountant worth it?” 

 

Holding his breath, Philip waited to see what Clint would say; he couldn’t intervene, not when the question was directly addressed to Clint. 

 

“Aye, Phil is worth much more than that; I was blessed from the moment he arrived on the manor steps, wagons full of books and all. A good helpmate is hard enough to find, but it seems I got love as well in the bargain.” Clint’s charm was infectious; some of the crowd smiled, a few grew misty eyed at the declaration. “And, since this is the first time I’ve graced your majesty’s court, I’ll let the insult to my holding and Phil go. Phil has promised to reward me if I’m gracious.” 

 

Audible intakes of breath came from multiple places; standing up to the King was dicey, especially given his malleable moods of late. Donaldson glared down at Clint, leaning forward to get closer. Moments passed in silence then he sat back and began to chuckle. 

 

“Oh, if I were younger, I think we’d get along famously,” the King said. “I remember those days of hazy lust and invulnerability. We need men like you on the borders; rough and ready, if you know what I mean.” The laughter that erupted was far too relieved; Philip maintained his calm facade, allowing himself a small smile at Clint. “See? That is the look of besotted man. I know when to leave well enough alone. Although I will require some penance on both your parts; what do you have to offer?” 

 

“The finest honey mead and apple cider, fresh made and spiced just right,” Philip immediately replied. “We can ship barrels to your private reserve.” 

 

“And I hear you have a pastry cook, a fine young wench who works wonders with dough?” the King’s eyes sparkled; he loved deserts and pretty women.. 

 

“I will speak to her; if she’s amiable perhaps she can come next time we visit and you can taste her wares yourself.” If Philip’s instinct was correct, Rachel would be happy to have a shot at working in the King’s household. 

 

“Aye, that’ll do for the moment.” With a wave, he dismissed Philip and Clint; they stepped aside, determined to stay near to support Darcy and Bruce. Theirs was to be a tougher questioning. 

 

A warm hand clasped Philip’s; Clint squeezed his fingers. Touch buoyed his magic, strengthening the connective threads that tied them together. Sending a pulse along the green thread to Bruce, Philip felt Clint add his own energy as well. 

 

“Lady Darcy Lewis and Clerk Robert Bruce Banner.” 

 

Clint huffed and Philip agreed. Calling Darcy by her maiden name was an affront to Bruce and signaled the way the interview was going to go. Bracing himself, Philip pulled on the magic lines from the others, weaving them around Bruce like a protective cloak. 

 

“Bruce Banner.” The King’s feelings were plain in his voice. “Clerk of the Desert Order. But that’s your second vocation, isn’t it? You were a rising scholar at University before you took your orders.” 

 

Making no attempt to hide her movement, Darcy linked her hand with Bruce’s, a clear show of solidarity with her husband. Still Bruce hesitated before he answered. “Yes, I was at University.” 

 

“Then you left,” Donaldson stated. “Because you committed heresy and were sent for treatment.” 

 

Bruce clenched his teeth but stood firm. “A rival student started rumors; the Men of Letters investigated and determined I was innocent.” 

 

The melody that was Clint and Philip whispered along the ties. A white and a blue line spun to where Steven and James stood on the opposite side of the room. Natasha was red, twining between the ladies’ ornate skirts to where she blended into the crowd, just another court follower watching the proceedings. Darcy’s vibrant burgundy, and Dean’s strong brown; Philip could identify all by their unique parts in the song. But underneath it was another sound, discord that turned the heroic march to a minor movement. Someone subverting the magic to their own ends. 

 

“And yet you ran to the woods to hide.” The King’s eyes flicked over Bruce. “Now you think to marry an heir to one of the most powerful holdings? Well, I am not amused.” 

 

Green energy flared around Bruce, visible only to Philip’s sight. He was losing control in the face of the accusations and Philip couldn’t blame him. Bruce’s past torture at the hands of the Men of Letters could never be called a treatment. 

 

“Neither am I,” Darcy spoke before the King acknowledged her, a faux pas at court. “We came to offer our support and you question this good man? Whoever’s been filling your ear is lying.” 

 

“Lady Lewis,” the King rumbled his displeasure. “I think …”

 

“That’s Lady Banner,” Darcy corrected, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she worked up to full steam. “So cast us out or whatever it is you’ve already decided to do.”

 

Right there. Philip caught the edge of the darker magic, hidden behind Dean. He scanned the faces around Dean in the crowd; Natasha moved closer, so quietly that no one else noticed. 

 

“Your mouth has always run away with you,” the King said, turning his focus on Darcy as she knew he would. “Fury spoiled you, encouraging you to pursue useless avenues of study, and now you defy me for this man?”

 

“Oh, I see. Useless avenues? What is it they say?  _ A thinking woman sleeps with monsters _ ?” Darcy leaked magic into the words, stirring the women in room; a dowager lady next to Philip, dripping in emeralds and silver, huffed and shifted at the implication the King was making. 

 

“ _ The beak that grips her she becomes _ .” Loki finished the phrase, the first he’d spoken, adding another layer to the discontent of the onlookers. 

 

A flare of black thread, a pulse of interest; Philip spun the tiniest of spark and set it free, chasing the line back to its owner. Behind Dean, an older man with greying red hair jerked, immediately glancing around. Keeping his eyes on Darcy, Philip hid his magic behind the shield he’d been building, one he’d help create for Bruce. 

 

“You bring this on yourself.” The King’s voice rose and his face infused with angry red. “As your marriage … nay, handfasting … is not valid …”

 

“The Crown Prince Asgard, Thor, was a witness,” Darcy broke in to remind him. 

 

The King glowered at her and continued as if she’d never spoken.  “Your union will be annulled and you, young lady, will take yourself to the Sisters of the Cloth and spend a year learning to be grateful for what you have. Clerk Banner will be remitted to the care of the Men of Letters to determine if he represents a threat to the kingdom.”

 

The hall erupted into gasps and whispered conversations; what the King proposed was tantamount to sending Bruce to a permanent torture session. Every knew, if no one admitted, that those taken by the Men of Letters always recanted but rarely were seen again.  A throb of energy burst from Bruce as his old nightmare rose up again; sliding his arm around Clint’s waist and closing the circle, Philip fed the swelling music across the connect through Darcy who hummed along under her breath for a few beats.

 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, your majesty,” Darcy said, raising her voice to be heard. “I’m sure there are scholars here who can correct me if I’m wrong, but a handfasting becomes a registered marriage if there’s a child conceived during the year.”

 

It was Clint who gasped, his eyes widening as he looked at Philip. “Did you…?”

 

Shaking his head, Philip noticed how Bruce smiled, the announcement calming him. Darcy slipped into his hold, his arm wrapping around her. She hadn’t told Philip, the little minx; she probably wasn’t far along, waiting until she was sure before sharing. And they’d rode all the way here, setting a good pace. She was going to get a talking to about taking risks. 

 

Donaldson’s face hardened; she’d neatly trapped him into recognizing the validity of their union. The King had called it a handfasting and the laws were clear that they were now married in the eyes of the government.  “Such pride in being willful. Challenge me, girl, and I’ll show you danger.” 

 

“Oh good. I love danger. What are we all shouting about? Something fun I hope.” Anthony strolled into the hall, a glass in one hand, filled halfway with deep red wine. Dressed in a simple red leather jacket, tailored to fit perfectly, lined in black thread with gold buttons, he paused for dramatic effect, let everyone have time to look, and then continued. “Bruce! I hear congratulations are in order. I’m worried, of course, that the kid will be smarter than me. You’re a genius and with Darcy’s brains, there’s no telling what your children will be like. Brilliant, that’s for sure.”

 

“Stark, you’re interrupting,” Donaldson interrupted. “This doesn’t concern you.”

 

“Afraid it does. This is my hall and my hospitality; My friends always have a place here. Besides, I don’t want to be the ogre that broke up young love. These two are a romance just waiting to be written. Hey! That’s a great idea. I’m going to get my bard on it right away.” 

 

“I am the King,” Donaldson began. 

 

“Indeed you are; from what I smell, my chef has created a wonderful meal for us to enjoy and I, for one, am hungry. Let’s adjourn to the dining hall and continue this discussion with some wine. Wine makes everything better. Milady?” Anthony offered his arm and Darcy took it, Bruce on the other side. “Let the banquet begin!”

 

As the crowd shifted and moved, Philip tried to keep his eye on the ginger man, but between one blink and the next, the man melted away. “Damn,” he muttered.

 

“We’ll find him,” Clint said. “Natasha will know. Now, how long do we have to stay at the table before I can collect on my promise?”

 

“We can have dessert in our room,” Philip promised.

* * *

“Gods save me from Picurian chefs,” Virginia muttered as she turned down the hallway towards the storage rooms. “Has to have kala jeera when parsley will do. In the middle of the banquet.” She stuck her hand in her pocket, curling her fingers around her key ring; for something as expensive as the spice, she kept a close eye on the inventory.

 

The sounds from the banquet dimmed; a cobweb brushed along her cheek. She made a mental note to check the cleaning schedule; this part of the castle should be dusted once a week. More cobwebs, clinging to her sleeves and sticking in her hair; they formed a web and slowed her, deafening all noise until only silence remained. She could see nothing, but felt the drag all around, closing in on her. Pushing her hand forward, she slowly stepped through the barrier, one foot at a time, emerging through what was an invisible arc. She could hear nothing of the banquet nor the sounds of the kitchen; hesitantly, she touched the sticky wall behind her, the hall just as it was before she crossed. 

 

“... Clerk back to the hall, the one with the reinforced warding. Is the room in the dungeon prepared exactly as instructed?” 

 

Virginia froze, easing her weight into balance so she didn’t make any noise. The voice came from ahead, around the corner towards the herb garden door. 

 

“Yes, sir,” a second voice answered. “The Lady? Her condition would dictate we treat her delicately.” 

 

“Gag her and her magic will be contained. She will be unwilling to struggle too much for fear of losing the child. Once in our custody, she’ll want for nothing; I have the best doctors and midwives to lead her through the coming birth. Then the baby, the first born of bonded parents, will be ours to raise.” 

 

An icy cold crept up Virginia’s spine as the import of the words sank in. She needed to go, to warn Darcy and Bruce, but any movement might give her away. 

 

“Leighton also brought a Null Box; it burned through three caskets before we put it in a lead container. Are you sure you want to take the risk of using it around so many …”

 

“‘Tis the only item powerful enough to hold the mage, and then only after we take the husband out of the equation. The ripping apart of the bond will be our window to subdue his magic.”  

 

Oh, gods, Virginia thought. They meant to kill Clint and kidnap Philip; if they found her, they surely wouldn’t hesitate to harm her. Stepping on the balls of her feet, she flattened herself into one of the alcoves along the hall, hardly daring to breath. In the darkness, maybe they wouldn’t see her if they came this way. 

 

“And what of Stark? He has new protectors of which we can learn nothing; it’s as if they appeared from the ether.” 

 

“He is no more than an irritation and no concern of ours; Stane will take care of all of them. Now go back to the banquet and insure all is prepared. We wait for the third changing of the guard when our people are on watch.” 

 

“We’ll be ready.”  

 

Footsteps sounded; she pressed flat, biting her lip. A man came out of the corridor, turned his back, and walked away from her. She got enough of a side view to recognize Brock Rumlow she prided herself on learning the names of even the staffs and servants of those visiting the castle. And once she knew who the man scurrying off to do his master’s bidding, Virginia’s heart leapt into her throat for there was no mistaking who was giving the orders. 

 

Unmoving, Virginia waited, taking no chances now that she understood how high the conspiracy went. The sound of metal striking flint, the whoosh of flame igniting, the scent of tobacco: the man stayed just out of sight, his smoke floating  in the air. Counting her heartbeats, Virginia’s brain jump ahead, what to do next, who to find, and who to tell.  Who to trust. A panic settled into her ribcage, flittered down to her fingers and rushed into her ears. So much danger swirling around and she was all alone. Even her own people were suspect, and Anthony was as likely to hole up in his lab as he was to disappear entirely. Like always, she had only herself to rely upon. 

 

A warmth spread like a hand on her shoulder, a sense of someone beside her. A presence that calmed her mind and helped her take a deep breath.  She could do this; it was a talent she’d cultivated, to go unnoticed, fade into the woodwork. “No one’s here,” she thought. “Nothing to see. Move on your way.” Repeating it over and over, she made herself believe that she could be invisible. 

 

_ You can _ , the warmth whispered.  _ You’re strong. _

 

Noise began to filter down the hall, the cobwebs of the silence melting away. Servers voices, a shout from the chef, a giggle from a maid, all flowed in as the spell faded away.Just as she thought she should take advantage of the sound and slip away, the man came around the corner, his cheroot glowing with red ash . In a perfectly tailored blue jacket, silver thread adorning the seams, the ornate symbol of the Men of Letters over his heart, Alexander Pierce, Head Master and the third most powerful man in the Midlands, strode past Virginia without a glance her way.

 

She held her breath until he was out-of-sight and then her hands began to tremble, her chest rising and falling quickly as panic set in. It happened like this; she managed the crisis, kept her cool, only to break down later where no one could see her or know that she wasn’t always in control. 

 

_ You’re not alone _ , the presence assured her.  _ Come to me. Let me help. _

 

Her knees wobbled as she tried to walk; what if she saw Pierce? Or his underling Rumlow? Would they know she’d heard?

 

_ Act normal. You belong here. You are the Chatelaine of Burosey Castle _ .

 

Yes, that was right. She rolled her shoulders back, pushed the panic down, and moved with determination. Each step was easier as the plan formed in her mind. First, a stop in the herbery for a small pouch of parsley and a touch of cardamon then a swing through the kitchen to sate the chef’s anger. With the main course going out, she had an excuse to watch the hall, keep an eye on Philip and his family. She had three hours before sunrise to warn them … and maybe discover if the voice in her head meant she’d finally gone crazy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, now, did you think I'd forget Pierce and Rumlow? Who better to run the corrupt Men of Letters? 
> 
> One of Pepper's skills would definitely be a "somebody else's problem" cloak -- I'm a big fan of Douglas Adams and think that would be some damn fine handy magic to have. Or maybe it's an old Jedi trick ... move along. 
> 
> Back to one of my favorite poets for Darcy. I adore Adrienne Rich and "Snapshots" is one of her most famous poems. Plus now I've challenged myself to write a pregnant character in the middle of what is sure to be some very dangerous times. Don't worry, Darcy will still be kicking ass as things go forward. And you can bet the Hulk won't let anyone near her. 
> 
> Katie-Kate's coming. Hold on.


	7. Many Cheerful Facts about the Square of the Hypotenuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper is missing, Anthony has a plan, Maria is worried, Clint gets a message, and Obediah reveals his hand. Everyone is in the cross hairs as plans begin to unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely rewrote this chapter, so that's why it took so long. Fighting begins in earnest in the next one, so hold on to your hats. Yes, I know it's been four chapters and only a little sex so far, but I don't buy into the 'someone's about to attack us, let's have kinky sex while we wait' theory. I'm more of a "oh my God we survived; why was I so stupidly not having amazing mindblowing sex with you, let's do it now" type of storyteller. :)
> 
> The next chapter might be a little longer too. I'm heading into midterms and have a ton of grading to get down. Once I hit midterm break, I'm going to crank out the next two or three chapters which are already planned. Pirate ship, ahoy! And femslash and foursome be ahead.

Anthony had lost count of the glasses of wine; all he knew was Pepper hadn’t cut him off yet which was a bad omen. If she wasn’t watching his cup then something was wrong. Worry worked its way through the alcohol’s effects; he couldn’t even get drunk anymore to escape the emotions he didn’t want to feel. Sitting back in his chair, he ignored the conversation around him and motioned to Steven standing on his left, whispering in his ear as he leaned down. 

 

“Something’s up. Virginia hasn’t been nagging me.” Anthony scanned the room, looking in the usual places Pepper used as vantage points. She was always on top of every detail; to be missing at a banquet for the King was not in her nature. “There’s a variable we haven’t accounted for.” 

 

“Bucky will find her,” Steven promised, resting his hand on Anthony’s back, two fingers brushing the bare skin at the nape of Anthony’s neck. With a jolt, the room shifted focus; brilliant colors of court wear faded; numbers outlined bodies, the mechanics of movement shaping everyone and everything in the hall. Some simple equations -- burning candles, silver plates, wooden benches -- others longer formulas with standard solutions.  Rhodey, seated at a lower table, filled with vectors; Clint, on the same bench, was angles and trajectories. Proofs orbited Philip, all logical basis upon which everything else was built. 

 

“Is there a problem?” The King asked from Anthony’s right. 

 

When he turned, he saw basic algebra, numbers that were half erased. “Just sending my man for some whiskey. Wine is nice but I feel the need for something stronger. Can I offer you a glass?” Anthony replied. 

 

“I won’t say no,” Donaldson said. “The food is a little too heavily spiced for my taste. Might wash away the lingering heat.” 

 

Anthony had barely touched his beef; the cooked meat was sliced thin and artfully arranged with colorful circles of carrots. But Anthony would trade it in a heartbeat for a bowl of Dax’s stew and some dark bread. 

 

“We lured the chef away from Richards,” Obediah spoke from the King’s other side. “Quite a coop to have him. Best in the Midlands, aside from your chef, of course, your majesty.”

 

Jerking back, Anthony almost knocked over his wine; his fork tumbled to the floor with a clatter. Stane was a differential equation that burned into Anthony’s eyelids, the forcing function sending the outcome in the opposite direction. 

 

“I think you’ve had enough Tony,” Obediah said, his disapproving eye staring directly. “Perhaps if you put some food in your stomach, the alcohol wouldn’t hit you so hard.” 

 

Heat flushed through his body; pushing away from the table, he stood, weaving slightly for good measure. “You’re right, Obie. I’ve had enough wine. I’m going to see Pepper about breaking out the whiskey.”  

 

When Steve’s touch left, the swirling numbers faded. Striding off the dias as if he knew what he was about, Anthony made a show of bumping into a few chairs along the way, playing up his drunkeness. Truth be told, any haziness had left at the first brush of Steve’s fingers; Anthony was as sober as a stone, shaken by what he’d seen with his vision. Equations still crawled along the edge of his sight, a way to make the trestle tables stronger, a better balanced serving tray, a solution to the black singe of smoke above the torches. 

 

The kitchen teemed with bodies, a clash of rhythms from chopping knives to clanging pots. Everywhere Anthony looked, he saw solutions:  a better tripod for the fire, a smooth bellows, a curved pan for frying, and a new formula to cast iron that would conduct heat. He shook his head, focused his eyes, and searched for a familiar red head, but she was nowhere to be found. 

 

“Lord Stark.” The Chef … what was his name? How was Anthony supposed to remember when they kept changing the kitchen staff every few months? He’d liked the older woman who’d made a delicious beef stew when he was younger, but she’d retired and since then it had been an endless parade of new faces, and not just in the kitchen. “Is there a problem?”

 

“No, no, just looking for Potts. I need something from the cellars,” he replied. “Thought she’d be in here.”

 

“She went to the Lord’s cabinet, your grace,” a young scullery maid answered, bobbing her head as she picked up a tray ladened with roast vegetables and turned to go back into the hall. “Before we began serving the main course. She hasn’t returned.” 

 

“I can send someone down if you wish,” the Chef interrupted. “Albert! Fetch what the Lord needs, will you?” 

 

Anthony waved him away. “Not necessary. I’ll find her myself.” 

 

Cool air greeted them in the hallway beyond, the heat of the kitchen contained behind thick stone walls. Always quieter, the servant portions of the castle were mostly underground or butted against the stone outcropping used as a foundation. With its back defended by a sheer slice of mountain, the castle had never been captured. The city of Burosey wrapped around on all available ground both at the top and the bottom while large inlets of water formed their own protective breaks. Anthony had always loved the view from his suite, the one his father had used and his grandfather before him, a 360 degree panorama of the ocean and the land. 

 

“The Lord’s cabinet?” Steven asked as he kept an even stride next to Anthony. 

 

“More like Pepper’s closet. She won’t even let me have a key, just because I stole a few mushrooms one time. Honestly, the woman thinks she runs this place.” And that was because she did, a fact Anthony never gainsayed. If left to him, he’d run it into the ground in a year or less; he knew his weaknesses. “Shouldn’t have taken long, though; she should have been back …”

 

He almost plowed into Maria Hill as he rounded a corner; she was crouched on the floor, rubbing the fingers of her hand together and sniffing whatever she was holding. 

 

“Well, imagine this. What’s a Lady Thane like you doing in a back hallway?” Anthony asked as she stood, raising that one eyebrow that sent a clear message of disapproval. “Are we interrupting a tryst? Meeting your lover for some clandestine kisses?” 

 

She did look lovely in her deep blue dress, her dark hair in soft waves. “Of course that’s your first explanation,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t have time to spare with you, Anthony. Let the grown ups work and go back to your party.” 

 

“Maria.” Steven smoothly stepped in. “Have you seen Lady Potts come this way? We’re looking for her.” 

 

The eyebrow shifted from annoyed to interested. “I think she was here, as well as someone else.” Holding out her hand, Anthony saw black flecks littered across the tips. “Someone was smoking, long enough to leave ash. The Lord’s cabinet is directly down this way; she’d have passed them if she went there.” 

 

“You think something’s happened to her?” Steven’s query was quiet, concern filling his eyes. 

 

“Yes. I … I can’t explain how …” Always sure and precise, Maria stumbled to a stop;  Anthony had never seen her like this. “We find whoever smoked a camaguey cheroot, we gain more information.” 

 

“Expensive and illegal. They’re one of my favorites. Obediah has a stash and the King is known to partake now and then. I’d imagine the same is true of a dozen or more of the powerful people in the hall.” The more he thought about Virginia, the spikes of worry drove into his chest, anchoring a full blown tent of panic. “It could be anyone of them; that’s a dead end.” 

 

“That’s not an acceptable answer.” Maria shifted into her battle face, the one her enemies saw. “I’ll backtrack from here. Someone saw something.”

 

“We’ll help,” Anthony promised, his sincerity earning him a sideways glance from Maria. “What? You believe the act? Of course I care about her.” 

 

“I know you …” Maria began then stopped short, her head turning to stare down the darker part of the hallway. “There’s more; it’s bigger. Can you see it?” 

 

His first thought was to make a joke then the numbers crowded together, shuffling into new places. The solution dropped into the negative, turned green, then grew larger. “Bruce. He and Darcy retired early, said she was tired. They thought they had him earlier; they’ll try again.” 

 

“And if Virginia got in the way.” Maria finished the thought. “They’d take her too.”

 

Anthony was moving before she finished speaking, calculating the distance to the lab and back to Bruce and Darcy’s rooms. He needed his armor, had to grab that nullifier he had been tinkering with. 

 

“Tony.” Steven caught his arm, pulling him back. “You can’t go rushing off; we need to get Bucky and Natasha, make a plan.”

 

“I have a plan. Attack first.” Anthony shook off Steven’s hold and charged ahead, not waiting for anyone else to follow. 

* * *

 

 

“I thought we’d never get out of there,” Clint said as he took the stairs to their chambers two at a time. “I’ll never remember all those names.” 

 

“Don’t worry. We won’t have to make another appearance until the King calls another council and that won’t be anytime soon.” Philip was just as anxious to get to their room as Clint was; he hoped Natasha had some answers about the man he’d seen earlier. The hairs on the back of his neck were telling him danger was poised, watching their every move. 

 

“Good. I miss Dax’s cooking. This fancy food isn’t nearly filling enough,” Clint replied. 

 

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Philip touched his palm to the wood and activated the ward to prevent being overheard. “Tomorrow’s going to be a puppet show; the King needs the Lords to approve his proposed changes to the trade treaty. After that, he’s free to make amendments that will greatly benefit his favorites. Even with Anthony back, there’s no assurances there’s enough support to vote it down.” 

 

“Ah, Phil, you know talking politics drives me crazy.” Clint caught his arm and reeled him in. “How about we talk about my reward instead?” 

 

Clint’s touch distracted him like always, his worry melting away under the tender kiss. He hummed as he slid his arms around his husband, bringing him closer; warmth flared and Philip sank into it. He’d learned how to stoke the fire slowly, knew when to tamp it down and when to let it burn. Life had been empty before Clint, but he’d scarcely known it.  

 

“Mmmm, shall we take this into the bedroom,” Clint murmured against Phil’s lips. “Or do you want me to bend you over the lounge right here in front of the windows?” 

 

“Natasha could be here at any moment.” Philip really should keep his head, but not giving in to the temptation of Clint’s body was virtually impossible. 

 

“Bed it is. Too bad we don’t have a nice hot shower.” Clint shuffled backwards towards the doorway into the other room, never letting Philip go. “I do love the way I slide in so easily when we’re all soaped up.” 

 

“Gods above, Clint, I can’t tell you no.” He leaned in, chased the taste of Clint’s mouth with his tongue. 

 

A knock sounded, followed by Theodore’s voice. “Lord Barton? It’s me.” 

 

With a sigh, Philip broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Clint’sfor a second  before he went to open the door. It was a testament to Philip’s training that the young man waited to deliver his message until inside.  Handing over a parchment, Theodore straightened his shoulders and stood up to his full height; his shoulders were widening, his body changing. Accompanying his Lord to Burosey had added some gravitas to his position. 

 

“A woman asked me to bring you this. She said to give it to you, Clint, and nobody else and that you would know what to do.” He paused. “She had all white hair, a braid that hung down to her …” he caught himself. “It was very long. And the sides of her head were shaved bare with tattoos that looked like the ones T’challa had. Lots of earrings in one ear, and she wore all black leather.” 

 

Philip raised an eyebrow at the description; a woman like that would stick out in the castle. “And where did you meet this unique person?” he asked. 

 

“In town. Ada and Franklin let Billy and me tag along while they went shopping. We had fish and chips for dinner at this place by the docks and bought some pulled sugar candy for Nathaniel and taffy for Pietro and Wanda.  Saw a pretty bracelet we’re going back to get for Annamarie.” The words tumbled out, one almost crashing into the other, and Philip was glad to see the boy retained his natural good humor. With so much battle and grief around them, the enthusiasm for a simple thing like visiting a city reminded Philip of what they were fighting for. “She came up to us as we were leaving the chip shop.”  

 

“You did well, Teddy,” Clint assured him, ruffling his blonde hair. “You can go eat the candy you bought for yourself now.” 

 

As soon as the page left, Clint opened the vellum, carefully weighing the edges down with candlesticks on the small table. Tiny letters lined the page, slanted to the left, curling loops connecting them into words. A precise script with even spaces -- the writer had to be trained as a scribe or a clerk to craft such a lovely handwriting. The message itself was brief.

 

_ Dear Oxoci, _

 

_ Come tonight to the Frying Pan Pub; it has been too long since we last shared a pint. Let’s hoist a few for old times’ sake and remember those who have gone. The winds are changing and, as we sail on the tide tomorrow, it may be a decade or more before we cross paths. Plus, you owe me money; you’re buying. _

 

_ Ororo _

  
  


“Hell’s bells,” Clint cursed. “More bad news? After this afternoon I’d hoped the rest of this visit would go smoothly, but when it rains, Ororo is usually around.” 

 

Philip waited, knowing that Clint would get to an explanation after he worked through his surprise. Instead of asking, Philip unbuttoned his court jacket and made his way to the closet where he rifled through the clothing they’d brought for something suitable to wear to a pub near the piers. Tossing a simple shirt and pair of leather breeches towards Clint, Philip changed into his riding pants and searched for his padded leather jerkin. 

 

“We’ll need to be armed, but nothing fancy,” Clint told him as he too changed. Knives started disappearing into various holsters. “Don’t want to call attention to ourselves, so not a lot of money in the pouch, just enough to buy some ales and dinner.” 

 

“I do know how to blend in, dearheart,” Philip reminded him. “I’m not as good as Natasha, but I’ve done my share of surveillance.” 

 

“Nat, right. We need to let her know where we’re going. That way, if we don’t come back, she can come get us.”  Clint, shirt still hanging out of his pants and stocking on one foot, took out a piece of paper from the desk and dipped a quill into the ink. Scribbling a note, he left it to dry as he finished dressing. “We’ll give it to one of the boys as we leave.” 

 

“Is that an option? That we might not come back?” Philip had to ask. 

 

“Ororo is the first mate of the Rogue’s Gambit, a pirate ship. If she’s worried about changing winds, then there’s a storm coming,” Clint explained. “And the last time I crossed paths with her and her captain, I sort of ended up in chains and then welshed on my promise when they freed me.” 

 

“I see.” Philip tightened the lace on his scabbard then paused. “Wait. In chains? Does this story involve a card game and …”

 

“Yeah, um, hey, honey, want to go meet Remy? As in the Archer and the Pirate King Remy?” Clint’s whole face flushed with embarrassment. “I may have, sort of, had a thing with him once. Well, okay, it was two weeks, but that’s it I swear. And it was over four years ago. I didn’t even know you then. Plus, I love you to distraction, okay?”

 

Biting his bottom lip to keep from smiling, Philip didn’t stop Clint’s stumbling explanation, enjoying every second of it. “Of course I know you love me,” he said once Clint petered off to a finish. “And I can’t wait to meet the man who beat you at strip poker. Maybe he can teach me a few tricks.” 

 

With a long suffering sigh, Clint followed Philip out of the room, mumbling about fate being unkind as they headed down the stairs. 

* * *

 

“I know you’re awake, my dear. Best to open your eyes and let’s get started.” 

 

Virginia slowly lifted her lids, tugging at the ropes around her wrists as she looked up at Obediah Stane from her seat on top of a wine vat. The chill in her bones and the smell of earth had given away where she was even before she shook off the last of whatever they’d given her to knock her out. In the far corner of the wine cellar, the deepest level of the castle, the darkness was only dispelled by the torches two of Stane’s men held aloft. 

 

“Good. Now we can get down to business. I like you, Virginia. You’re efficient and closed mouthed, the perfect attributes for a chatelaine. And you’re very good at thinking on your feet to cover for Tony’s failings.” Obediah crossed his arm over his chest and stared at her. “I’d really like to keep you in your position for the good of the transition. It’s going to be hard enough to placate certain portions of the population but with you soothing things over, Burosey will emerge from this little bump in the road and become the holding it was meant to be. However, that can only happen if you make the right choice. Your loyalty to Tony is admirable, but now is the time to pick the winning side.” 

 

“You kidnapped Tony,” she spat, her anger rising. “You were Howard’s friend, Tony’s guardian. Now you turn on him?” 

 

“Howard was brilliant but manageable. I could do what I wanted and he didn’t care,” Obediah huffed. “Tony is a different story. The boy showed too much initiative, asked too many questions. It’s time for a more permanent change in leadership. All I need from you is the combination for the cistern door. Seven digits and you can walk out of here safe and sound, looking forward to many more years of being the Lady of the castle.” 

 

“I changed it after Tony was taken.” Virginia smiled that her organization and thoroughness had paid off. “In case that’s how they got into the castle. Through the cistern tunnels.” 

 

“Oh, no, those were men I let in through the back gate. I own the guard, my dear. They’ll do what I want. This is for a friend; once this place is cleared of all the degenerates, I’ll be able to hold the castle against any who might object.” With a sigh, Stane shifted his weight. “Pepper … may I call you Pepper since we’re going to be working together? … he’s not worth your life. Tell me the code.”

 

Red hot heat of anger flashed through her at this betrayal. The very man tasked with Anthony’s welfare -- how could he do this? She clenched her fists and, for once, let the fire out, not keeping it behind her calm facade. The ropes gave and a wisp of smoke tickled her nose. 

 

“If I tell you, what’s to stop you from killing me?  If I don’t tell you, you have to keep me alive since I’m the only one who knows it.”  Her wrists were burning and yet she felt no pain. Skin flushed pink turned darker wine, veins going deep red. 

 

“You have my word, of course.” He was so smug, so damn self-righteous. Virginia had always felt the niggle of doubt around him, the tiniest of warnings that something wasn’t right. 

 

“The same promise you gave Howard to watch over Tony? No, thank you. I’ll take my chances,” she said. 

 

“I didn’t want to have to do this; I really do like you,” Stane said, heaving a fake sigh. He nodded to someone in the darkness; a robed man stepped into the light. As he lowered his hood, Virginia saw green tinted armor with yellow lines, a helm that covered his face. Sad blue eyes stared at her as he neared, hands coming towards her face. 

 

“I will try to make this a painless as possible,” he said in a strangely flat voice. “The more you struggle, the more damage I will have to do. Please. Allow me in.” 

 

Cold finger tips touched her temples and 

 

_...she saw flames, felt herself falling, the terrible heat consuming her. She cried out, stretching her arm towards the night sky above before the red/orange closed in on her. _

 

“I am sorry but you need to remember,” his voice whispered in her head. “There is no time.” 

 

_ She was running, a monster chasing her, crashing through the cavernous darkness. A voice called her name, urging her on.  _

 

_ “Stand back,” Philip told her. Fire bloomed and she was knocked back by the blast wave, the impact driving her breath out of her lungs.  _

  
  
  


“Hold on. I’m coming for you, min bryde.” Clear and sure, the woman’s voice echoed in Virginia’s head. “I won’t let them have you.” 

 

_ Heat coursed through her body, images colliding into each other and fanning the flames and consuming her.  _

 

“I have it,” the Green Knight said. 

 

And then all went dark.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't remember the Green Knight, he works for the Evil Sorcerer but also seems to want to help our intrepid heroes. A number of you have theories about who he is. All I'll say at the moment is that his colors are more a reference to the comic book than the movie. *winks*
> 
> Don't worry. Nothing bad is going to happen to pregnant Darcy. Just in case you were concerned. She's too much of a bad ass with the Hulk to protect her. :)


	8. Oh False One! You Have Deceived Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Darcy are in peril, the Castle is under attack, and love is blooming under the strain. Steve takes charge, Tony shows his mettle, Maria's cool under pressure, and Pepper gets hot under the collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so long I had to cut it into two. Clint and Phil will get their turn, don't worry.

“We don’t have time for this,” Maria complained as Anthony sorted through a box, looking for the tool he wanted. “I need to find Virginia; we don’t even know Darcy and Bruce are in any …”

 

Dean Winchester came through the workshop door, out of breath and closing the door behind him firmly. “We’ve got trouble in the stables; Brock Rumlow has a warden wagon with the strongest protections I’ve even seen. And there’s a box he’s guarding like it’s filled with precious gems. The Men are raiding the deepest vaults; they’re going to make their move soon. We need to warn everyone.” 

 

“See?” Anthony did so enjoy being right. “Bruce and Darcy are top of the list.”

 

“Philip, too. They’ll want to run tests on him, put him through all kinds of examinations.” Dean dropped his leather knapsack on a table and began pulling out a wide-array of weapons. Knives, a crossbow, a short sword, and daggers jumbled together with strange looking mixes. “Suffer not a mage to live. Rule number one.”

 

“Is that pump action?”  Distracted by the long barrelled crossbow, Anthony picked it up and felt the balance. “Ingenious. Two bolts at once? And the reload time?”

 

“Got twelve iron tipped quarrels in the magazine,” Dean explained. “Dipped in holy water with wards carved in the shafts.” 

 

“You designed this yourself?” Anthony turned it over; neat welds held the parts together. “Damn fine work, Winchester.”

 

“Excuse me,” Maria interrupted. “If you’re done with the mutual admiration, can we get back to the problem at hand?”

 

“I agree,” Steven added. “We need to check on Bruce and Darcy, find Virginia, and send word to Philip to be on watch.” 

 

“Cut from the same cloth, these two,” Antony mock whispered to Dean. “Okay, oh great leaders, what are your …”

 

_ Pepper hanging just out of reach, her hair a red fall, lit by the flames below. He stretched, fingers barely missing hers. “Come on, honey. Trust me; I’ll catch you.” _

 

“Gods,” Maria gasped, bracing her hands on the edge of a table. “What are they doing to her?” 

 

_ Fire flared, her pale skin glowing, a patchwork of red veins pulsing in time to the pounding of Antony’s heart.  Like a phoenix, she rose from the ashes, a goddess in white, protecting what was hers.  _

 

“Stane.” Hands cradling her head, Maria strung the words together. “Stane has her. Something … cisterns? Hold on, I’m coming for you, myn bryde. I won’t let them have you.” 

 

“The tunnels. He’s going to unlock the tunnels.” Anthony grabbed the last bit of his buckler and attached it to his forearm.  “The castle is built over an underground lake; there are ways through the caverns. Only Pep knows the combination; she changes it regularly just for this eventuality.” 

 

Maria ripped at her skirt, tearing away the heavy layer of fabric and stepping out of muslim undercoats. Beneath, her legs were covered in blue leather, a sword strapped to her outer thigh. 

 

Anthony’s eyes widened. “Now I’m always going to wonder what’s beneath your skirts,” he told her.

 

“I’m for the basement. Who’s with me?” she declared.

 

The air reverberated with a loud pop; William the page appeared in the room, breathing heavily as if he’d run a race. “Lord Steven.” The boy paused to gulp down air. “Natasha sent me … Clint … Lord Barton and Lord Coulson … they’ve left the castle. Clint … Lord Barton … got a message to meet an old friend … in town … at the Frying Pan Pub.” William put his hands on his knees and dragged in a deep breath. “Natasha is going to meet Thane Barnes in Lady Darcy’s room. She says to meet her there … and be careful.” 

 

“Thank you, Billy.” Steven put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Take a minute and rest. Then I want you to find Thane Rhodes. You remember him? Lord Stark’s friend?” At the boy’s answering nod, Steven continued. “Tell him to meet Maria … where’s a good place, Tony? Maria can’t go after Stane on her own.” 

 

“The servant stairs behind the kitchen. Fastest way to the wine cellar,” Anthony supplied. “And I’m going with Maria.” 

 

“You’re staying with me,” Steven overrode Anthony’s assertion. “Last thing we need is to hand you to Stane on a platter. Then he’d have exactly what he wanted. You’re with me. Dean, can you find Clint and Philip and tell them what’s happening? They may be in danger as well; a message to leave the castle is very suspicious.”

 

“I know the place; it’s down by the docks, a favorite of certain types of sailors. Great place to pick up information,” Dean replied. 

 

“Good. Maria, keep that door locked. We don’t know what Stane’s planning, but it can’t be good. And if he’s working with the Men of Letters …” 

 

“Or the Sorcerer or Loki or any of that bunch,” Anthony added. 

 

“... we’re in deep trouble,” Steven finished. “Tony’s right. We’ve got a hole in the wall to plug. Everyone be on their guard.” 

 

It came so easily to Steven, falling into the lead position, issuing directives that didn’t sound like orders but more like suggestions. Even Anthony couldn’t argue that Maria and Rhodes would be enough to rescue Virginia; if Maria’s reactions were an indication, he was about to lose his right hand woman to another very competent woman. Good heavens, but the two of them scared Anthony down to his bones. Virginia would organize everything and Maria would make the battle plans; together, they’d be running the Midlands in less than a month. 

 

A part of him envied Pepper; finding a connection like Clint and Philip had was beyond anything Anthony deserved. He glanced at his reflection as they ran through the halls, making their way into the guest part of the castle; his armor gleamed red and gold, and he looked for the world like a true warrior lord, but Anthony knew better. It was Steven who should lead the charge, be the hero of the piece. Steven and James and Natasha. A perfect trio who fit together like the sides of a triangle. The Captain, the assassin and the spy. 

 

A roar drowned the sound of their clattering boots halfway up the last set of stairs.  Just as they hit the landing, Barnes launched himself at a wooden door, slamming his magical shoulder against the thick planks to no avail.  Standing and watching, Natasha shook her head as he bounced backwards. Crashing came from inside, the sounds of wood cracking and glass shattering. 

 

“Some sort of barring spell,” James told Steven. “Strength isn’t going to do it.” 

 

“I’ve got this.”  Anthony positioned himself with a direct line of fire. “Might want to get out of the way.” 

 

He focused on the warmth in his chest, sensed Virginia’s banked fire and Rhodey’s anger. Pulling on Steven’s strength, Anthony tied in James’ stubbornness and Natasha’s depths, winding them together into a beam of energy that lanced out and struck the door. Wood shattered, hinges buckled, and splinters flew.  Stepping in front of Natasha, Steven turned his back to the dangerous missiles, protecting her. 

 

“That’s new,” James said, peering at the smoking hole where the door had been. “Kind of like it.” 

 

“What until you see how fast I can roast a pig on a spit,” Antony replied, already moving towards the room. 

 

Steven beat him, crashing through what was left of the wood and into the room beyond. Drawing the sword he’d taken from Anthony’s workshop, Steven immediately rushed one of the men that were harrying the Hulk; they were pricking him with swords, driving him crazy. Tearing at his hair, the Hulk stomped his feet on the floor and whimpered, loudly. His eyes were bloodshot and his face contorted; behind him, Darcy draped across a lounge, seemingly unconscious. 

 

“Hey, Big Guy!” Anthony shouted once then again until finally the Hulk looked up, squinting through watery eyes. “Catch!” 

 

The small metal square flew in a perfect arc right into the outstretched green hand. A flash of light, followed by a low thrumming sound, and the Hulk jerked back, staring at the tiny box. He huffed, shook his head, then huffed again. 

 

“Magic gone,” he said. “What is this?” 

 

“Nullifier. Disrupts the spell. Now you can smash these guys.” Anthony told him. 

 

The three men stepped back, fear creeping into their eyes. The one who’d been fighting Steven lowered his sword, but raised his other hand. “If the creature comes with us,” he said, waving a small vial with red liquid inside, “we’ll give the lady the antidote. Otherwise, she’ll die within the hour.” 

 

The Hulk’s bellow blew through halls, shaking pictures and knocking over candlesticks. “Hulk rip you to tiny bits and take it,” he promised. “Give it now.” 

 

“Look, you’re outnumbered; there’s no way this ends well for you,” Steven said. “Give us the antidote and we’ll let you go so you can tell your master that you failed.”

 

“We have a mission to rid the world of abominations like them. Evil cannot be allowed to flourish in our world.” He slid his sword in his sheath. “I will die to fulfill my objective.” 

 

“That can be arranged,” Anthony told him. 

 

Natasha appeared from behind the man, snatching the vial from his palm before he could react.  Darting around the Hulk, she knelt by Darcy and proceeded to dribble the liquid into Darcy’s lips. 

 

“NO!” The man held aloft a silver ball and growled, “I will end this now.” 

 

There was not time to think; Anthony couldn’t afford the surprise at seeing one of his own inventions in the hand of a Men of Letters. He knew exactly what it was and what it could do; as the man threw it towards the floor, Anthony only had a second to shout a warning to the others to get clear. The Hulk turned to cover Darcy and Natasha, and Anthony threw himself on top of the small circle, curling around the object as it began to vibrate. The explosion rattled Anthony’s armor, his body shaking as he took the brunt of the blast. 

 

* * *

 

Virginia jumped when the hand slipped around her mouth, an arm curling around her waist and pulling her back into the shadows. She’d just awakened from whatever the Green Knight had done to her; Stane and his men were busy at the gate, giving her a window to escape. Silently standing up, she’d thought to make her way behind a rack of wine and, from there, flee upstairs to warn Anthony and the others. But she didn’t make it more than three steps before she was caught. 

 

Pinned tight, she panicked for one second then calmed as coolness bled from the fingers, dousing the fever that burned in her body. The world settled into place and everything became clear; she knew beyond doubt that the person behind her meant her no harm. Relaxing into the hold, she felt the shift of body, the press of breasts against her back and the tickle of exhale on her neck. The hand over her face loosened; it burned cold, and Virginia was sure she’d be marked forever by the brand. 

 

“Shhhhhh,” Maria Hill whispered into her ear. “You’re safe.” 

 

Without thinking, Virginia covered Maria’s hand with her own. It was Maria who gave a little gasp as fire met ice, condensing into a liquid that sank into both their skins. A strange sense stirred inside Virginia, an awareness of every move of the men who had yet to notice her disappearance. She knew the contents of the room, could list the bottles of wine and where they were stored; a new set of eyes overlaid that information with estimates of fighting abilities, best ambush locations, and a calculation of the odds. Folding together, she understood Maria’s plan to stop Stane, the pros and the cons, the possible failings. 

 

“They’re late,” Stane growled, tapping out the cheroot he’d lit. “I have to meet Pierce for the second phase. Guide them to their targets once they get here.”  

 

Virginia started to pull forward, to go after Obediah, but Maria held her still. For the first time, Virginia became aware of James in his battle gear beside them, poised with his sword at the ready. 

 

“Close the door. Imperative number one,” Maria whispered. “We’ll distract them. You close it and change the code.” 

 

Nodding in response, Virginia hesitated; she squeezed Maria’s hand and wished this wasn’t the second time they’d met. She could use a kiss for luck.  And just as she thought that, Maria brushed her lips along the shell of Virginia’s ear, her breath cooling Virginia’s skin. 

“Be careful,” Maria told her. 

 

“You too,” she replied. 

 

Maria moved, fluid and fast, going for the nearest guard; she took him out with a pommel hilt as James emerged from the shadows and charged a second man. For a few moments, Virginia watched them fight, waiting for a clear path to open through the melee.  Such beautiful form, Maria pivoted on one foot and countered a guard’s strike, her arms extended and her back bowed to meet sword with sword. Then she changed direction again, her strong thighs on display in her leather pants. She wasn’t willowy and slim like Virginia; Maria was muscle and curves, full breasts and hips, powerful and compact. What would it feel like, Virginia took a second to wonder, to have those thighs wrapped around her shoulders, her mouth buried into what had to be a dark thatch of curls between. To scoop that breast into the palm of her hand and worry the nub with her tongue while her fingers were buried deep inside the wet heat. 

 

A clanging brought her back; four men, dressed all in black, were coming through the gate, the last one turning to shout down the tunnel at the others. She couldn’t wait anymore; dodging a swinging sword, she curved around a vat and ran full out for the gate.  Someone grabbed a hank of hair that had fallen down; she spun and brought her knee up, hard, into his groin, just like Anthony had taught her. His eyes widened and his breath burst out as he curled into himself, crying out in pain. She avoided an outstretched arm, used some crates of bourbon as a shield, and managed to slam the gate shut, only to find that the lock had been broken. With no way to keep it closed, she cursed, a burst of anger raising her temperature as she wrapped her hands around the iron bars. Wisps of steam rose from the spot where her palms were in contact with the metal; her fingers began to glow, the metal melting at her touch, melding together. 

 

“Got you, you bitch!” One of the castle guards grabbed her bicep and yanked her away. “Think you’re so high and mighty, that you’re better than all of us? Well, I’ll show you. You’re nothing but a cunt in a dress.” 

 

She struggled as he grabbed her dress and yanked; out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the tunnel, more men on the way.  Swinging her open palm, she intended to slap him but the moment her hand made contact, he screamed, high-pitched and full of pain. A red impression of her hand burned on his cheek, skin melting.  Wrenching away from his hold, she stepped back, horrified by what she’d done. 

 

“The door!” James called, fighting two of the men in black.  “Lock it!”

 

Pulling herself together, she finished what she’d started, welding the door to the rest of the frame, stepping back just in time for men to come pouring out of the tunnel and be caught by the closed grate. 

 

“Open the door,” one of them said. He wore an insignia on his lapel, red thread sewn into the likeness of a mythical sea monster. Power wove through his voice, a velvety smoothness that called out to everyone in the room. “Come now, beautiful. Just let me in.” 

 

A hysterical bubble of laughter threaded up her throat; a few giggles escaped as she backed up to stand by Maria and James, avoiding the bodies of the guards and other men, all of whom were on the floor. It struck her then, all of it: kidnapped, taken hostage, forcibly mind read, almost killed, burning iron, and killing a man. And now this enemy thought he could seduce her to do his bidding. 

 

“I hate to break the news to you, but that’s not going to work,” she told him. “I’m not attracted to men.” 

 

“Neither am I,” Maria added, drawing Virginia close with an arm around her waist. 

 

“That makes three of us,” James said. “Sorry.” 

 

“Damn the gods,” the man spat. “We’ll break the lock.” 

 

“Good luck with that.” Virginia looked at Maria. “I think I welded it shut.” 

 

A big smile broke out on Maria’s face. “Where have you been all my life, Leof?”

 

“Just waiting, it seems.” She returned the gaze, their eyes locked on each other. 

 

“Um, ladies,” James interrupted. “Perhaps we can take care of this situation and then you can get better acquainted?” 

 

It took all her will to break the bond that was growing exponentially between them. “Of course. What shall we do with these uninvited guests?” 

 

“I’ll stay here and watch them until you bring the guard,” James replied. 

 

Like a dose in cold water, Virginia remembered the conversation from earlier. “They’ve infiltrated our guard. I don’t know who is loyal to who.” 

 

“We’ll use my and Clint’s retainers,” Maria promised. “Let’s go get them.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, right? Tony's going to find out that he has something of value to offer real soon, I promise. 
> 
> William the page is Billy Kaplan from the Young Avengers; he's also called Wiccan and can teleport. 
> 
> Pepper as fire (Iron Man 3) leads to Maria as ice (I couldn't resist. A kick ass woman who turns the 'cold as ice' comment on its head). 
> 
> And Tony teaching Pepper to knee someone in the groin made me laugh so I had to put that in.


	9. When I Sally Forth To Seek My Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ororo has a delivery for Clint. Rumlow interrupts, Dean jumps, Phil shields, Ororo stirs, and Clint is pretty much just Clint. And Phil meets Remy LeBeau, the Pirate King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away with the fun of this chapter. As you may know, writing fight scenes is hard for me, so I decided to use some lively banter to make it more entertaining. And then there's Remy. It's always hard when your current meets an ex. Especially in circumstances like these.

The Frying Pan was actually an old converted ship, permanently beached at the north end of the pier. Benches lined the deck, but the main bar was downstairs where a stone fireplace had been added to the curve of the hull.  Canon holes had been turned into windows, covered with dark wavy glass.  It was no wonder the tables were filled with sailors and dock workers; the place obviously catered to those who made their living on the sea. 

 

“Hawkeye.” Ororo rose from her seat, tall and regal. She’d grown her hair; gone was the short silvery white spikes in a row from brow to nape. Now, the length was braided tightly, hanging over her black leather vest and brushing along the the curve of her matching pants. If they could be called pants; a good inch of her dark glossy skin was revealed where the laces criss-crossed up the side. “Or is it Lord Barton now?” 

 

She was even more gorgeous than Clint remembered; a few years had sanded away some of her youthful softness. Sharp angled cheekbones highlighted her sky blue eyes and her full lips that quirked up in a smirk as she surveyed first him and then Philip. He’d forgotten how she would cock her head and look down her nose at him. 

 

“It’s Clint,” he countered because this was part of the test, the battle of language. “And this is Phil, my husband. Phil, Ororo Munroe, an old friend.” 

 

Her eyebrow arched at the word; she tilted her head ever so slightly in a way that might be construed as a nod in Philip’s general direction. “So you’re the man who hooked his wagon to this piece of work. Can’t imagine there’d be any reason to tie myself to someone with a history like Clint’s.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Philip answered, his voice as casually sharp as hers. “There’s something to be said for experience. All kinds.” 

 

Without waiting for her, Philip pulled out the opposite bench and sat, his back to the stairs, a weaker position she’d forced them to take by staking out the seat against the wall.  With a wave of his hand, Philip called over the blonde woman who was serving the tables and ordered two pints as Clint joined him, leaning an elbow on the table but not putting his feet under. Sideways, he could see the directions Philip couldn’t. Only after they were settled did Ororo sit down. 

 

“He certainly has a long history of exploits to draw from.” She sipped from her half-full mug. “Some of which I know about first hand.” 

 

“Yes, that little affair in Kingston. A Royal Governor, if I remember right, and a cursed coin?” Philip looked askance at Clint. “Is that the one where you ended up with the daughter or the blacksmith? I get them confused.” 

 

Gods but Clint adored this man, and how he matched Clint so perfectly. “Kingston was where I got the scar and he was a tavern owner.  The governor’s daughter was Port Roale, and the blacksmith was Tortuga.” 

 

“Well, I for one am excited to meet the famous Pirate King; I’m a big fan of the story.” Philip’s smile was nothing but predatory, a warning that he could give as good as he got.  

 

“Tortuga. Now that was a party.” She sat back in her chair, stretching out her long legs under the table. “You were quite … creative about the entertainment. What did you call it? Dogging? Or was that Cottaging?” 

 

“Dogging. And you quite enjoyed your part in the display.” He paused as the pint was set in front of him and decided to go for the jugular. “So, how is T’challa? Last I heard, he sailed home. Thought you might go with him.” 

 

The line of her mouth went flat, and she straightened her back. “I have no idea,” she replied. “And it’s not my business to know.” 

 

A tense silence reigned for a few moments then Philip spoke. “Now that the posturing is out of the way, can we get down to it? What do you want with Clint? More importantly, what do you want from him?” 

 

Releasing her breath in a huff, she looked at Philip and a genuine little smile crept onto her face. “I think I might like you,” she told him. “At least you seem like the right match for this sack of shit. So, business it is. Two things. First, we’ve got a delivery for Clint on the ship. You need to come by tomorrow to pick it up.”

 

“Delivery?” Clint couldn’t imagine what they had. There was literally no one outside of Barton Manor or here in Burosey to send him something. “From who? And what is it?”

 

She looked right through him in that way she had which always made him shiver. “You honestly don’t know, do you? That’s interesting.  Well, you can find out tomorrow. I’m not going to ruin the surprise.” 

 

“Is it dangerous?” Clint asked, leaning forward. “You planning on knifing me in the back and dumping me over the side? ‘Cause I’m going to pay you back the money I owe you if that’s the issue.” 

 

“On Yemaya’s name, I promise. No one’s going to kill you. Remy might have other things he’d like to do, but the delivery’s for real,” she said. “Whether the item is dangerous or not, that’s up to you to figure out. We’re just the ones bringing it to you.” 

 

“Well, that’s pretty damn cryptic,” Clint complained. “All that priestess training is making you harder to read.”

 

“And the second item?” Philip asked with a sideways glance at Clint. There would be explanations later for the details he hadn’t had time to tell Philip. 

 

“We came up the coast from the Aimi Keys, stopped off near Chasown to see Jean, only to find the Red Knight’s men offering ‘protection’ from a war they say is coming.” When Ororo got passionate about something, she truly was unstoppable, and there was nothing she cared about more than nobles who didn’t protect their people. “The local Lords down there either don’t give a damn, can’t be bothered to leave their homes in town or they’re hiring the guards themselves. The very few who’ve said no or tried to stop them have, conveniently, been the first targets of these mysterious forces that have no name.” She took a long pull on her ale. “Then we get here and no one has heard about any of it. You’ve got barbarians past the gates and it’s some sort of well-kept secret.” 

 

Clint exchanged a look with Philip before he answered. “Some of us have been busy fending off attacks of our own,” he told her.  “It’s not just down south; the north has been harried by wargs and other creatures. We’ve had multiple skirmishes to beat back.” 

 

“Your King is weak,” she said. “And the carrion are circling the edges, picking off bit by bit.”

 

“It’s not the Red Knight’s usual strategy,” Philip mused. “This smacks of collaboration; Lord Tarleton and maybe even Loki.” 

 

“There’s another new player in the east,” Ororo told them. “Wears an iron mask and favors a green cape. Has a foreign accent. He was seen at Tarleton’s castle and at a few other locations. This isn’t confined to this part of the Midlands.” 

 

“Damn.” This news fit perfectly with what they already knew; Clint had been wondering what the Sorcerer’s plan was for his gathered band of villains. Now he could see a path to taking over the Midlands that have a good chance of succeeding. “Bits and pieces. Until it’s too late.” 

 

At that moment, Dean came down the stairs, his green eyes sweeping the bar until he found Clint and Philip. With a curt nod, he headed their way. 

 

“Winchester,” the woman behind the bar called to him. “Long time no see. Where’s the other one?” 

 

“Hey, Ellen.” Dean waved back but didn’t stop. “Sam’s found himself a woman; I had to get a little breathing space. Things were getting a little too sappy romantic for me.”

 

“Well, you make sure she’s good to him. Sam deserves to have something nice once and awhile,” Ellen returned, taking the hint and going back to pouring drinks. 

 

His heavy knapsack thunked on the floor but he didn’t sit down, zeroing in on Clint. Then his eyes took in Ororo and widened; he grinned, relaxed his shoulders, and addressed her. “Hey. Dean Winchester. And you’re …?” 

 

“Don’t even go there,” Clint warned him. “She is way out of your league.” 

 

“Dude. How am I ever supposed to get laid if you cockblock me?” he complained. It was half-hearted at best, and Clint knew the news wasn’t good. “Anyway, Steven sent me. We need you; Bruce is in trouble.” 

 

“Darcy?” Philip asked, standing immediately. “Is she in danger?” 

 

“Probably.” Dean glanced at Ororo. “James and Natasha were on their way with Steven and Anthony not far behind. They thought you might be a target as well.” 

 

“I see you’ve been making friends like always, Hawk. Who have you pissed off this time?” Ororo asked. 

 

“Who haven’t we?” Clint answered with a shrug. “You know how it is.” 

 

“Indeed I do.” She stood and dropped some coins on the table. “Never rains when it can pour.” 

 

They walked out together, down the gangplank to the dock where Ororo turned to go to her ship. 

 

“I’ll be by tomorrow,” Clint told her. 

 

“Lord Coulson-Barton.” Stepping out from between two buildings, a man blocked their path. His swords were drawn, glinting in the moonlight, his dark eyes glittering as he sneered at them. “We need to ask you a few questions; if you come along with us, we’ll escort you back to the castle.” 

 

The us meant the eight other men who materialized from the shadows, each one with a weapon at the ready, the same insignia on their vests, a stylized sea monster with many legs. Around their necks were warding talismans tied to a leather thong. 

 

“By what authority?” Philip asked, dropping the casual demeanor he’d adopted for the tavern and donning his cloak of nobility.

 

“The Head Master of the Men of Letters,” the man replied. “You’re wanted in connection with a charge of heresy.” 

 

“What are you doing, Brock?” Dean asked, stepping forward. “According to the by-laws, a Lord can only be detained by order of the King.” 

 

“Stay out of this, Winchester,” Brock hissed. “You’re in enough trouble because of your connection to these two; I’d worry about myself and your freakishly tall brother if I were you. You two are on shaky ground as it is.” 

 

“Run back and tell your master that we’ll be along shortly,” Philip said. “We have business to attend first.” 

 

“You’ll come with me now.” Brock’s stance deepened; he settled his weight for the first feint. 

 

“Or you’ll make me?” Philip asked. “Truly?”

 

Clint settled his hands near his daggers, plotting trajectories and calculating the odds. He could take out two in the first rush, a third if they hesitated before charging.  Letting the magic enhance his sight, he counted four more men still hidden, circling around to cut off their escape to the north. 

 

“Don’t think you’re invulnerable. I can take you down with a single arrow,” Brock warned. The boast raised Clint’s hackles. Even if they didn’t know about Philip’s magic,  one arrow could easily miss its target.  They’d have to have a …

 

Spinning to his left, Clint dove towards a stack of crates waiting to be loaded onto a nearby ship just as three arrows slammed into the wooden planks where he’d been standing. The fourth sliced through the material of his sleeve and left a trail of blood. 

 

“Son of a bitch.” Philip drew his swords and the air crackled with static. A wind kicked up, blowing in from the south, whipping up white peaks in the water.  A distant rumble of thunder sounded from out at sea. 

 

“Don’t.” Dean grabbed Philip’s elbow, holding him back. “He’s trying to provoke you; they need witnesses for the trial.” 

 

“Seems like you’ve made your choice, Winchester,” Brock said. 

 

“Damn straight.” Dean opened his knapsack and tossed a small crossbow to Clint. “Consider this my resignation.” 

 

The weapon had a large magazine. Drawing the forestock back, he pumped it and put his finger on the trigger. 

 

“Ten gold pieces to the one who kills Barton.” Brock grinned. “Winchester isn’t worth anything.”

 

In real battle, the enemy doesn’t wait patiently while attacking one by one;  they came in a wave, two on Dean, two circling Philip, and four charging Clint’s location. He sighted and pulled the trigger; the bolts flew faster than he expected, two at a time, knocking one man down and sinking into another’s arm.  Using the crates as a barrier, Clint waited until the next barrage of arrows slowed then fired off another volley. As long as their archer was on his perch, Clint was pinned down, unable to move out in the open. At a disadvantage, he had to fight in close quarters, splitting his attention between the three men who surrounded him. With the water at his back, Clint had nowhere to retreat. 

 

He used the crossbow to block a sword, spun and slashed with his dagger then felt a line of fire across his side as a knife tip caught him before he could finish dancing out of the way.  Even the best fighter could be brought down with superior numbers, and Brock had no compunction about sending men to die at Clint’s hands. More appeared -- how many had been waiting or were just now arriving, Clint had no idea -- and he was hard pressed to stay on his feet.  His heel hit one of the pylons on the edge of the dock, and he rocked forward, right into the path of a falling weapon. 

 

Blue tinted Toledo steel blocked the stroke, sparks flying as metal hit metal. A blur of white whipped by Clint’s face, Ororo’s braid like a scorpion’s tail, lashing out in a circle as she moved.  Faster and sharper, like a whirlwind with claws, she’d grown in skill since the last time he’d seen her fight.  Lethal, that’s what she’d been, and now she dealt death with a liquid grace, every inch the primal force of nature she’d once studied to become. 

 

“This isn’t your fight,” Clint told her, breaths coming quickly as he parried more shots. “You don’t have to do this.” 

 

“You still owe me money, Barton.” In the harbor lights, her smile flashed white and her eyes sparked. “Besides, I’ve seen what these guys can do. Along the coast.” 

 

He barely had time to register what she meant when more arrows flew past him, one hitting the dock right by his foot. “I am damn tired of that,” he complained. “Cover me.” 

 

Knowing Ororo was more than capable, he stepped out, closed his eyes and let the magic gather around him. Dean’s heavy guitar line and Phil’s strings joined Clint’s own melody. Underneath ran a steady drum beat from Ororo, perfect match for their racing hearts. Without looking, he raised the crossbow and shot one quarrel, not bothering to check on his accuracy. He knew he’d hit his mark. 

 

“That’s new,” Ororo said, shifting so they were fighting back-to-back. 

 

“And a long story,” Clint replied. Now that he had room, he flicked daggers at two men, taking them down with ease. “I’ll tell you later over a bottle of whiskey.” 

 

To his right, Philip fought with his usual grace, two short swords like twin blades that cut and sliced as he circled.  On his other side, Dean’s style was more street brawl, his fists slamming into chins and exposed areas as often as his knife. 

 

“You think to end this quickly?” Brock asked. He’d stayed out of the fray, issuing orders, his very presence keeping onlookers and others at bay.  From his pocket, he took a small sphere, a round globe that glowed red inside. “There is no way this ends well for you; we’ve been preparing for hundreds of years. You and your little band of freaks will fall tonight.” 

 

“You wanted witnesses, Brock,” Dean said. “And you’ve got them. Use that, and you’re the ones on the side of magic.” 

 

“Don’t worry; by the time we’re done, they’ll think you in league with the enemy.”  He held the orb up and said, “ _ Death wants more death _ .”

 

It flew out of his palm, trailing energy as it rocketed towards Clint. He shot two bolts at the ball, but they bounced off harmlessly. Stumbling back, he tried to avoid the missile; Philip shouted his name, but he was overrun by attackers unable to do more than turn his head and watch.  

 

Just before the spell hit Clint, Dean intruded, shoving Clint away and taking the full brunt of the magic. A nimbus of red circled his body; he bowed his back, face contorted in agony, then crumbled to the dock, grey tendrils of smoke rising from his body. 

 

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Clint launched himself at Rumlow, brushing aside any feints, pressing the grinning man back with his ferocious attack.  They were well-matched, but anger fueled Clint’s strokes and music flowed through his arms and legs as he moved with lightning speed, taking Brock down and pinning him to the dock. “I’m going to end you.” 

 

“Go ahead,” Brock said, a smirk still on his face. “The punishment for killing one of our order is death by hanging.  I’ll still get what I want.” 

 

A wild chaotic melody filled Clint’s ears, pounding in time with his need to see Rumlow pay. “Then you’re guilty; Dean was one of you.” 

 

“I wasn’t aiming at him; it will be ruled accidental. But cutting my throat in public? If that’s what it takes to bring the mage down, I’ll gladly die.” 

 

“And that’s your mistake.” Clint pressed the edge of his dagger along the vein just under the chin. He leaned down and whispered, “Phil’s not the only one with magic.”  His eyes flashed purple then he poured power through the blade; Brock’s eyes rolled back in his head, his jangling minor chords faltering.

 

“There’s more on the way. You are now the most wanted men in the kingdom,” Brock ground out. “There’s no going home.” 

 

“Clint!” Ororo shouted. He glanced up and saw more men running down the street towards them. 

 

The sharp knife sliced into Clint, a piercing pain that took his breath as Brock surged up, pressing it deeper. “Nothing personal,” he told Clint. 

 

Then Rumlow gasped, twisting away; Philip pressed his advantage, slicing with one sword after the other as Clint pushed himself up, ignoring the warm blood soaking his shirt.  Stumbling to where Ororo stood next to Dean’s body, he turned just in time to see the tip of Philip’s blade carve a line from Brock’s temple to his chin, diagonally across his face. The ends of his skin curled up, a red curtain covering his cheek and mouth as he screamed. 

 

“We’ve got to go,” Clint said. More men were coming; they had to take this chance to get away.  He tried to bend over to pick up Dean’s body, but the pain was too much. 

 

“You should leave him,” Ororo said.  

 

“You wouldn’t,” Clint shot back. 

 

She sighed and grabbed Dean’s arm and leg, throwing him over her shoulder. “The ship is close.” 

 

They ran, clattering down the dock, Ororo in the lead. Clint kept a hand on his wound, applying pressure. Two piers passed and they took a left, barely outpacing their pursuers, until a familiar ship came into sight. Standing at the end of the ramp was a giant of a man, his muscular shoulders broad and his thighs like massive tree trunks. 

 

“Thought you might need help,” the man said as he took Dean from Ororo. “Where Barton is, trouble follows.” 

 

“Nice to see you too, Piotr,” Clint said. The big man smiled. 

 

“Tell the Captain,” Ororo said. “We need to cast off. Now.” 

 

The wooden ramp sagged as the man started to the ship. “He knows. The whole of the docks could hear you coming.  Kurt is on the ropes and Nathan’s got the anchor. We’re ready to push off.” 

 

“You heard the man; get onboard,” Ororo ordered. 

 

Feet pounded behind them as they ran onto the ship. Two sailors grabbed the plank and pulled it away from the dock, leaving the Men of Letters with no access.  As a small man untied one rope from the dock, running to the second, their pursuers took aim with crossbows; everyone took cover as the last rope came free and the man clambered up the slack line. 

 

Poles pushed them away; on the dock, the attackers dropped their weapons, parting as a woman stepped forward. Her long dark hair hung loose, framing her angular face;  a dark green dress slithered over her slim frame. As she raised her arms, Clint saw flickers of green energy expand out from where she stood; it hit them, and they shot forward about a ship length before coming to a stop just beyond the pier. 

 

“What was that?” one of the sailors asked. 

 

“That was a becalming spell,” Remy Lebeau answered, coming down the stairs from the quarterdeck.  A tall man, Remy wore his hair shoulder length, a black sash holding it back from his face. A burgundy leather vest buttoned over a white shirt with full sleeves, his leather pants held up by a sword belt decorated with scroll work.  After all this time, the man still wore that long brown leather coat he’d won in a card game in the Outer Isles. A diamond winked in one ear, a ruby in the other. “We’re stuck here while they get boats to row out and board us.” 

 

“Or they could do that,” Piotr nodded to the dock where torches were burning, arrows being lit. He shouted to the others, “Incoming incendiaries!”

 

Clint notched an arrow and let it fly, taking out the torch bearer; three more followed in rapid order, but there were far too many archers to stop the first volley. The burning shafts arched up, curving over the water towards the canvas sails; one of the great dangers for a ship was fire. They’d have nowhere to go but over the sides to swim to the pier. 

 

But they didn’t have to abandon ship. About three arms length away, the arrows stopped as if they hit a solid wall, tumbling down into the water.  Beside Clint, Philip held his arms out, fingers spread, words mumbled under his breath.  The second wave of missiles met the same fate as the first. 

 

“I can hold the shield, but it takes all my concentration,” Philip told Clint. “We still have to break the spell.” 

 

“You married a mage?” Ororo asked, not nearly as surprised as Clint thought she should be. “Of course you did.” 

 

“Clint always did have a way about him,” Remy added, cocking his head and grinning Clint’s way. “Since they showed us one of their powers, I think it’s only fair we show them one of ours, don’t you think?” 

 

“Tit for Tat,” Piotr agreed. 

 

“Ororo?” Remy nodded, giving her permission. 

 

Her hands lifted and the air stirred; within seconds, a strong wind filled the sails, pushing them towards the mouth of the bay, spell or no spell. She winked at Clint and stirred one hand in a circle, mimed tossing something towards the dock. Thunder cracked and the temperature suddenly dropped. Fat drops of rain followed, turning to a deluge, a late summer thunderstorm putting out the Men of Letters’ torches and drenching them. 

 

A loud groan sounded followed by a series of coughs. “Damn it to hell,” Dean said, slowly sitting up. “That fucking hurt.”

 

For once in his life, Clint was absolutely speechless. It was Ororo who reacted; she took a flask from her vest and doused Dean with the contents. 

 

“Hey, hey!” Dean complained. “I’m not a zombie or vampire or anything. There’s no need for …”  He coughed again as he inhaled some of the salt she tossed over his head. “I’m just me! I promise.” 

 

“You were dead.” Philip knelt next to the hunter, feeling for his pulse. “No one could have survived that blast.” 

 

“Yeah, well, Death and I have a deal. Sort of. It’s a long story about a crossroads demon, a ghost, and an old curse. Sometime when I’m in my cups, I’ll tell you all about it.” Dean let Philip help him up. Looking at the burned edges of his vest, he said, “Aw, I’d just gotten this leather broken in.” 

 

A wave of exhaustion filled Clint’s chest; a pounding ache poured into his head. Looking down, he saw red smears on the bow in his hand, small pools on the deck around his feet. The world tilted,  time jumped ahead, and Philip was calling his name. 

 

“You fool,” Remy muttered from behind him, leather clad arms holding Clint upright. “You never change.” 

 

“Clint, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” Philip’s face was close, concern marring the bluest blue of his eyes. “We’re going to move you to a better place where I can work on you.” 

 

“I didn’t introduce you.” Clint couldn’t focus but he knew he should say something diplomatic when his husband met one of his old lovers. “Remy, Phil. Phil, Remy.  He’s not bad.” His words slurred. “Long time ago.” 

 

“Go to sleep, Clint. I’ll be right here,” Philip said. 

 

So Clint did. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth about the "Dean can't die" thing. It's a running joke on Supernatural that killing a Winchester just pisses them off (that's actually a line of dialogue from an episode). Dean's died and come back so many times it's not funny. So when I was thinking of his talent, I thought, "why not?" Then I thought, "hey, make him flirt with everyone so he can be this Universe's version of Captain Jack Harkness." There will be some explanation later on if you wonder just what happened to him. 
> 
> Piotr is Colossus. I just saw Deadpool last weekend and I had to add him in. Nathan Summers is Cable and Kurt Wagner is Nightcrawler. Lots of X-men names will be popping up on the pirate ship, but not Rogue. She's the one that got away; I can't wait to write pining Remy. :)
> 
> Lots of sex coming next. Now that the Men of Letters have shown their hand, our heroes can lick their wounds and do some house cleaning. Or have someone else lick their wounds. *wink*


	10. Make the Most of Fleeting Leisure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King is not impressed. Tony and the others receive bad news. Lines are drawn, and some new faces declare their allegiance. Tony discovers that sex is not always the answer, and Virginia invites Maria in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be breaking chapters into Burosey Castle and the Rogue's Gambit for a bit here until the gang comes back together. Because of that, certain facts will remain unknown to the characters in each location.

His heart was all but slamming its way out of his chest, his hands clammy and his breathing short and stilted. Through his brain ran a litany of all the things that could go wrong, an endless loop of what ifs and what might and what will happen. He was much better at taking action; waiting and thinking and planning only left him time to panic. Last thing Anthony needed right now was to make the growing attack of nerves worse than it already was. 

 

“Stay still,” Virginia hissed under her breath. “Or you’ll pull off the bandage I just put on.” 

 

“Can we just get this over with?” Anthony groused, the collar of his jacket rubbing along one of the burn marks on his neck. “This is supposed to be an emergency meeting and it’s moving slower than a festival parade.” 

 

“You’re the one who threw himself on a magical device,” Steven whispered from just behind him. “If you hadn’t had on your armor, you’d be dead right now.” 

 

They’d been arguing this point since the blast of energy had rolled out of the sphere, knocking everyone down and leaving steam rising from Anthony’s breastplate. The concussive force had knocked him senseless for a few minutes, driving the breath out of his lungs and making him gasp for air. Steven had dragged him from beneath the broken door, his face pale and eyes wide with concern. James tossed the splintered wood out of the way,  anxious to check on Anthony. Once they realized he was only winded with minor cuts and bruises, the lectures had started -- how valuable he was, how important, how it was their job to risk their lives. And they hadn’t stopped. Not when the guard arrived, when the captured Men of Letters were taken to the dungeon, or when Virginia filled them in on Stane’s plans. Even after Lord Fury called an emergency meeting of the Council to deal with the events of the night, Anthony was still hearing why he shouldn’t have saved everyone’s lives. 

 

“Pep, we need to clean the cobwebs out of the ceiling; I swear there’s an echo in here,” Anthony said. Between the stress of his godfather trying to kill him and his own inner voice berating him for being so stupid, he really didn’t need the constant reminders. “Can someone wind these two down or something? I’m getting tired of being told I’m useless every other minute.”

 

“Tony, you’re not use …” Steven began, but was interrupted as King Donaldson finally entered the music room, a mid-sized hall that had been prepared for the Council meetings. No one expected it to be in use this early in the morning, but Virginia had managed to have a breakfast spread as well as steaming tea, coffee, and chocolate for the weary Lords who’d been dragged from their beds with bad news. 

 

“Your Majesty.” Anthony stepped forward with only the barest of head nods. “Thank you for joining us so promptly.” 

 

He kept the sneer out of his voice just barely; it had taken almost two hours from the time the King had been notified of the attempted attacks and his arrival. Obviously, from the King’s royal robes and coiffed hair, he’d taken the time to be bathed and dressed before leaving his room. Anthony’s only concession to court decorum had been to throw on a clean leather jacket; his pants and shirt still bore the stains and dark red drops of the night before. 

 

“Of course. This incident bears a full hearing,” Donaldson said, completely missing Anthony’s sarcasm. “Come. Let’s break our fast with some of your chef’s delicious pastries and begin. I’ve much to do today.” 

 

Clenching his fists, Anthony opened his mouth, but Steven’s hand on his shoulder stopped the insult that was on the tip of his tongue. He was right; angering the King before they even started would do no good for their cause. They had no idea how many people were involved with Pierce’s plan nor how high the conspiracy went; the King himself might be issuing the orders, though Anthony highly doubted that. But he also didn’t believe Stane was the only Lord looking to move up. 

 

“I hope Lady Darcy and her husband are well,” Loki said, pulling out a chair and sitting next to Anthony. 

 

“Like you care,” Anthony shot back, waving over a servant for another mug full of coffee. He needed the energy to stay sharp; righteous anger and worry were the only things keeping him awake. Lack of sleep also loosened the binders on his tongue  “You tried to kill her once already.” 

 

Loki’s eyes settled on him, clear blue that cut as sharp as diamonds. “I have never put her in harm’s way. I would have made her a Queen, a position she richly deserves. Do not mistake my motives for others’; I prefer to use people’s strengths rather than destroy possibilities.”

 

“Or the weaknesses?” Anthony glanced pointedly at the King who looked even more than his age this morning. With the way Loki was playing Donaldson like a fiddle, Anthony knew better than to tell him anything about their plans. Darcy and Bruce had a three hour head start in their escape; keeping their absence and destination quiet for as long as possible was important. “Exploit any chink in the armor?  Yeah, I know how you work.” 

 

“Be careful, Lord Stark. There will come a point when you will need any and all who would be your friend … and even some of your enemies … if you are to survive,” Loki warned. 

 

“You really do enjoy playing both sides, don’t you?” Anthony’s last nerve frazzled to nothing. “If you really want to help us, you could just tell me what’s going on.” 

 

“Now where would be the fun in that?” Loki asked, sitting back and sipping his tea. He raised his voice and directed his words towards the King. “Shall we begin, your Majesty? I find myself anxious to hear the witnesses’ tales.” 

 

“Aye,” Donaldson agreed, picking pastries from a platter. “Indeed. What is it that is so important we must meet so early? Where is the Inquisitor to take the statements?” 

 

“Lord Stane is not here, your Highness,” Virginia answered, curtseying low in front the dias. “He has fled the Castle during the night.” 

 

“Oh, for the gods’ sake,” the King complained. “Who is the next in line? Need we have a vote? Where is the parliamentarian?” 

 

“Head Master Pierce is also missing,” Maria Hill said. “He and his right hand, Brock Rumlow, are nowhere to be found.” 

 

The King threw up his hands. “Then what is the procedure? Xavier? You know all of this. Take Stane’s place and let’s get this over with.” 

 

A slim man, quite young, no more than in his early twenties, stood from his place two tables down. He cleared his throat and glanced at the other Lords, a slight blush staining his cheeks. “Your Majesty, truly, the position should go to someone with more seniority …”

 

“Don’t quote me why and why not!” the King snapped. “You’re new and have no sides in all this. Plus there’s probably not a history book you haven’t read. Get on with it.” 

 

Beneath a mass of dark wavy hair, Charles Xavier blinked, pulled out a pair of spectacles from his pocket and slipped them on his nose. “Yes, sire,” he replied. “Shall we have the first witness?  Does someone have a list of … Oh, thank you.” Steven handed him the list; Charles nodded gratefully. “Lady Virginia Potts. Please tell us what happened in your own words.” 

 

Of all the decisions Anthony had made, many of the beyond questionable, hiring Pepper was one of the best. As she recounted the facts in a steady voice, he watched the faces of the other Lords and Ladies, the looks of surprise as she told of overhearing Alexander Pierce’s plans, the anger among some when she spoke of Stane’s plot, and widespread shock when she laid one of the odd badges before the King. Even when the questioning began … was she sure it was Alexander Pierce, did she see his face … she answered surely and calmly. Only when Xavier asked about how they blocked the gate did she get flustered, but she played it off as terror at being in a battle. 

 

“Thank you, Lady Potts. We appreciate your courage in coming before us.” Xavier finished questioning her and looked down at the parchment. “Lady … Thane Hill. If you’d please?” 

 

The King had been only half paying attention to Virginia, too busy eating through the pastries on his plate. But the moment Maria stepped forward, he sat up, his eyes zeroing in on her face. “Ah, that didn’t take long for Fury’s hand to be seen. Tell me, Hill, just how were you ‘accidentally’ involved in this?” 

 

Even Anthony knew it was the Inquisitor’s job to direct the questions; he could invite others to add to the interview, but only at his bequest. Not that Xavier would gainsay the King; the whole sudden appointment was already beyond the bounds of precedence. 

 

“Thane Hill, if you would, please tell us your involvement and what you saw?” Xavier requested. 

 

Maria’s nod was perfunctory. “I went looking for Lady Potts last evening; I ran into Lord Stark who was convinced something had happened to Virginia …”

 

“And why exactly did you leave a celebratory banquet to find the castle chatelaine? A sudden urge to talk about scheduling patterns?” The King interrupted, talking over Maria.  A few Lords murmured in their seats, uncomfortable with the breach of proceedings. 

 

Shifting her weight onto one hip, her hand resting on her waist, Maria’s eyes flashed before she answered. “Truth be told, I find Lady Potts to be an admirable, very beautiful woman; I had hoped to have a moment to speak with her. In private, as it were.” 

 

Taken aback, the King had nothing to say in response; it was Loki who drawled, “I can certainly understand that; she is both competent and lovely.” 

 

“If you could continue?” Xavier prompted, circumventing the King’s next interruption 

 

Talking up the tale, Maria told the expurgated version they’d all agreed upon, omitting any mention of magic.  Xavier pressed her on what she’d heard, but Maria stuck with the same story. 

 

“And you’ve never seen this insignia before?” Xavier asked. 

 

“I have.” 

 

Anthony turned to see Simon Williams stand, his prematurely grey hair almost silver in the morning light. He and Simon rarely saw eye-to-eye on issues; both competitive, they’d been in a race since they were born to prove who was the smartest, the most accomplished of the young heirs. When Simon’s older brother, Eric, had stolen funds from their holding’s treasury and blamed Simon, Anthony had reached out, but Simon refused all aid. Only in the last few years, after the charges were dropped, had the two reached a peaceful co-existence. 

 

“We’ve had some incursions on our western borders; men wearing this badge have stormed towns and taken land from a few of our thanes. I spoke to the problem at my last hearing with Lady Frost. She can attest to the damage we sustained,” Lord Williams said. 

 

“And we have had the same,” Lady Sue Storm added. “John and Benjamin have driven off at least two landing parties along the shore as well as some of the Red Knight’s troops offering protection from the villains. They choose easy targets on the far borders, the least likely to fight back.” 

 

Xavier nodded his agreement. “Aye, we too have heard from our holders of the roving bands who wish payment for their services, although we are yet to see any attacks from these sea serpent wearing men.” 

 

“Hydra.” Loki spoke, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s a hydra, a mythical sea monster. Cut off one head and two grow back, or so the story goes. And I personally can validate that Lord Barton’s hold has also been harried; the Frasier estate on the northmost border was lucky to beat back a force that came from the mountains.” 

 

“Lord Barton?” Xavier looked around the room. “It seems Lord Barton as well as Lord Coulson are missing.”

 

“Not missing,” Rhodes said, striding into the room with two guardsmen at his back. “I’m afraid I bring ill tidings.  Lord Barton and Coulson were set upon last night after leaving a tavern by a group of Men of Letters.  Witnesses say that the leader of the band was Brock Rumlow, Head Master Pierce’s right hand man.” 

 

Whispers turned to outright talking and shocked gasps from the gathered Lords and Ladies. Anthony sat up in his chair, his chest tightening at the news. “Are they injured?” he asked over the hubbub. 

 

“Lord Barton and Coulson escaped on a ship that managed to catch the tide and set sail. But the one Men of Letters who came to their aid wasn’t so lucky; Dean Winchester died, caught in a magic spell thrown by Rumlow himself.” Rhodes face set in stark lines, his anger evident in the sharp cheekbones and compressed lips. 

 

Rocking back in his chair, Anthony felt the words like a palpable hit. Dean? Dead? At Rumlow’s hands? Clint and Philip on the run?  Every muscle clenched, his breaths came in short bursts, and his heart ached like it was trapped in a vise. He could barely follow what the others were saying; forcing the panic aside, he focused every bit of his remaining energy on listening.

 

“Magic?” the King exclaimed. “There’s no such thing as magic.” 

 

“Multiple eyewitnesses saw Rumlow discharge a glowing sphere that electrocuted Dean.” Rhodes’ tone was clipped, distilling just the facts. “As well as a woman in a green dress who becalmed the waters in an effort to stop the ship from escaping.” 

 

“Witnesses? Drunken dock workers?” Lady Frost sneered. “They cannot be trusted.” 

 

“It can’t be true,” Lord Osborne declared. “The Men of Letters would never attack a Lord; it’s against the law.” 

 

“Are you kidding?” John Storm argued from his place beside his sister. “They’ve been gathering up as many magical devices as they can for centuries. Keeping us safe, they said. More like keeping them for themselves.” 

 

“You know nothing, John Storm,” Lady Frost retorted. “Just because the Men wouldn’t take you in their ranks …” 

 

“What is this?” Loki stood, rising to his full height, resting his hands on the table as he leaned forward. The slightest tremor shook his fingers and Anthony could swear he saw a flash of regret in the prince’s normally cold eyes. “A good man has died and you sit and argue. The facts are plain; you have a force that has moved within striking distance while leaving you all unawares. The enemy is literally at your gates and inside this castle.” 

 

“I am not convinced this is not a plot by some malcontents to destroy the unity of the Council,” Lady Frost said. “It has long been the goal of some to change the balance of power. How convenient that these events happen while we are all gathered in Burosey.”  She cast a sidelong glance at Fury, who had remained silent throughout the testimony and revelations. 

 

“You honestly believe that?” Lord Williams asked, incredulous. “And just how does Alexander Pierce and Obediah Stane fit into this? This is a conspiracy across the highest levels, Emma, not political machinations.” 

 

“Everyone knows Stane’s been trying to take the holding since Howard was killed,” Norman Osborne interjected. “And Pierce owes his position to the support of Nicholas Fury.” 

 

“What does that have to do with the price of fish?” John Storm demanded. “I can just as easily say that you argued for peace with the Red Knight and that means you’ve something to do with this.” 

 

“How dare you!” Osborne glared at the much younger man. “I would never …”

 

A bang brought a sudden silence; King Donaldson had slammed his hand down on the table. His face was bright red, splotches on his cheeks and nose, his clenched fist shaking as he shook it at the gathered nobles. “Enough. All of you. I am the King and my word is law. I will have no more arguing. This meeting is at an end. We will reconvene after we have all the facts. There’s no need to jump to conclusions. I will set my own men to finding the truth. Until then, you will all await my call.” 

 

With that he turned and stormed out of the room, his advisors running after him, servants darting ahead to open the doors. Sitting in his chair, Anthony’s anger drove out the panic from before; as arguments erupted around him, all Anthony could think about was Dean Winchester’s green eyes, flirting with him in the workshop, that sexy grin lighting up the room. 

 

“I’m truly sorry.” Loki’s hand lightly touched Anthony’s, “that he was the one to take the brunt of the strike. You’ve harbored a snake in your midst; Dean will not be the only one to feel its bite.” 

 

Anthony yanked his hand away and glared up at the dark-haired man. “Understand this,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Whatever you think you’re getting out of this little game you’re playing? It will mean nothing when all is said and done. Because if we can’t protect our people, you can be damn sure we’ll avenge them.” 

 

He pushed back his chair and strode to where Rhodes stood with Steven, James, Virginia, and Maria. There was no doubt what he had to do next; in the end, his only job was to protect his people and the ones he loved. Nothing else mattered. Dean would have understood that.

 

“Tony, what do you want …” Virginia began, but broke off when she saw his face. 

 

“Rhodey, I need to know who’s with us and who’s sold out to Obie and Pierce. You know the town guard and the constabulary; go to them for help in sorting this out. Steve, the Castle needs defending. Obie’s not done; he knows every entrance, every weakness. I need a new set of eyes, someone who can plug any holes and make sure no hostile is getting in here.” 

 

Steven nodded. “Done. Rhodes and I will work together. And you’ll need a personal guard …”

 

“That’s James’s job,” Anthony said, beating Steven to the request. He wasn’t going to argue, not when he had the best assassin in history to protect him. “Natasha, we need to know every bit of information you can find about these sea monster, hydra types, and what Obie and Pierce are up to. And Pep? You’re my inside man. We’re going to have to batten down the hatches and prepare for war. You and Jarvis do what you can to help everyone get ready.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” Virginia smiled as she answered. “But only if you promise to get some rest; we’ll take care of things while you sleep.”

 

“I think I can help with that,” Nicholas Fury said, stepping into the conversation. “You’ve all had a hard night; exhaustion can cloud your brain. My men can hold the line. Maria, that goes for you too. Quartermaine is already locking down the stables.” 

 

“You can count on us as well,” Sue Storm offered. “Reed was called away last night; there’s been another series of attacks. Lord Bishop and his family are all dead; a runner brought the news.”

 

“Bishop? His keep is well protected, certainly not an easy target,” Maria said. “It would take an organized force to storm it.” 

 

“The whole family?” Virginia murmured. “That’s terrible. The people will need aid; I should speak to Warren about arranging food and medicine for the survivors.”

 

“I’ve lost two cotholds to them; I admit I need help,” Simon Williams spoke up. He looked at Anthony. “I know we haven’t always been on the best terms …”

 

“Doesn’t matter now,” Anthony told him and he meant it.  

 

“I don’t have much to offer,” Charles Xavier said in a quiet voice, “but I’m very good at research.” 

 

“Well, there’s a library here I rarely use; you’re welcome to it.” Anthony looked around the haphazard circle of people who were stepping up to the challenge. “As much as it pains me to say it, Loki was right. There’s a snake in the hen house; we need to find it and crush it.” 

* * *

 

“Bed, Tony.” Steven blocked the doorway. “You’re asleep on your feet.”

 

“Just need to get to the workshop and tweak a few …” Anthony’s argument was interrupted by a big jaw-cracking yawn. “I think the transistor’s output could be expanded …” Another yawn and he shook his head to clear it. “Okay, maybe a nap. Twenty minutes.”

 

“Come on,” Steve nudged Anthony through the sitting room and into the bedroom. “Clothes off.” 

 

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I’m getting it up right now.” Anthony had a dozen excuses he’d used over the years, reasons to let people down easy. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy sex, he liked it very much, sometimes. But he’d carefully cultivated an image of a wastrel who spent his time drinking wine, fucking anything that moved, and avoiding his duties in order to hide the truth: that he’d never learn to love and wasn’t sure he could. “Long day.” 

 

“We’re not having sex,” Steven said, unbuckling his sword belt and laying it aside. “Not today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow, but when will be your decision.”

 

“When?” Anthony stopped, his shirt half-off. “You that sure of yourself, Rogers?” 

 

Steven reached out and brushed his fingertips along Tony’s jaw line, etching his touch with tiny jolts of energy. “I’m sure, but you haven’t made up your mind yet.  Good thing I know all about waiting.”

 

“And what if I never decide?” This was the point of no return, when people left him once they discovered just how flawed he was. “What if … I don’t …”

 

“There’s more than sex, Tony. Like having someone to hold you as you sleep. Now get in bed; I’m tired too.” 

 

Confused, Anthony stared as more and more golden skin was revealed. He didn’t believe that someone as … handsome wasn’t the right word for Steven Rogers … perfect would want to merely sleep with him.  “You have to be joking; you have James and Natasha. Why would any of you want me?” 

 

“Come to bed and I’ll tell you why,” Steven said, holding out his hand. 

 

He was too tired to refuse; throwing caution to the wind, he tossed the rest of his clothes into a pile and crawled between the cool sheets of his big bed. Slipping in with him, Steven stretched out his arm and Anthony curled against the expanse of warm skin, hooking an ankle over Steven’s calf.  He sighed as tension drained from his body; where Steven’s hand came to rest on the small of his back, Anthony felt as if the plug that kept his emotions bottled up had been pulled free, allowing room to breathe deep and relax. The crush of numbers and formulas that always rattled in his brain broke apart and settled into their places, shuffling into order and tucking themselves away. 

 

“How do you do that?” Anthony mumbled, sleep already stealing over him.

 

“It’s the bond.” Steven’s lips brushed along Anthony’s forehead then came to rest in the crown of his hair. “We have so much to bear, all four of us. I wasn’t going to say anything, let you come to us in your own time, but then I watched you dive for that device and I couldn’t wait any more.”

 

“Cause I’m the most expendable. That’s why I did it.” He hadn’t been this comfortable in forever, since long before his kidnapping. His brain, always working, spun slower and slower, his thoughts subsiding. Usually, he had to drink himself into this calm of a state. 

 

“Gods above, Tony, you’re the one we can’t afford to lose.” Steven tucked his fingers under Anthony’s chin and tilted his head up; their lips were so close Anthony could feel the puff of air as Steven spoke. “You’re brilliant, one of the greatest minds of this age. There’s no telling the how far your abilities can go now that you’ve discovered your magic. You’re inventions are going to save this world, you wait and see.” 

 

He had no masks to hide behind, no way to pretend he wasn’t feeling the effects of their connection, not when Steven’s blue eyes were so intensely clear. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else. You’re the heroes here, you and James and Natasha and Clint and the others. Dean was a hero. But me? I’m a failed excuse for a Lord.” 

 

“That sounds like Stane talking,” Steven told him. He tightened his hold on Anthony. “Some of us can see the real you, Tony. Dean liked you; he was always in the workshop, tinkering with various devices.”

 

“And now he’s dead.” The wave of grief hit him hard; there’d been no time to mourn the loss of a friend. He drew in a shuddering breath as tears gathered at the edges of his eyes then the warmth Steven’s lips kissed the drops away, light brushes that settled Anthony’s emotions. 

 

“First sleep then we’ll grieve. James is on watch. We’re safe. Give me your burden.” 

 

There weren’t fireworks when their lips met, no earth shaking tremors or lightening bolts. Instead, Anthony’s world turned, a gentle pivot that made his edges fit perfectly into the open slot of Steven’s aura, clicking into place. Steven’s magic powered the gears, now they were all connected, and the bond began to run, smoothly and flawless in its conception. Anthony was no longer alone; the missing variables were found and the solution was oh so simple he couldn’t imagine why he didn’t see it before. 

 

“You are all gluttons for punishment if you want me,” he mumbled, burying his nose into the crook of Steven’s shoulder. 

 

“Wouldn’t have you any other way than how you are,” Steven promised. 

 

Two handprints warmed Anthony’s skin, and he fell asleep as he left his own marks on Steven’s shoulders. 

* * *

 

She held her trembling hands in front of her face, surprised at the delayed reaction. Only now, with the door to her room closed, did she let the fear rattle her body. Fresh water poured from her ewer and she washed her hands, scrubbed her face, tried to clean away the feel of burning skin and smell of death. All through the night and the morning, Virginia had busied herself with an endless list of tasks, pushing aside the memories of the guard’s face, the horror of melting flesh that she’d caused. But here, alone, with nothing to occupy her mind, she couldn’t escape what she’d done. 

 

Only after she’d fallen asleep listening to the architect’s report about the state of castle entrances had she admitted defeat and agreed to get some rest. She wasn’t worried about the preparations continuing -- Jarvis had those in hand -- but she truly didn’t want to think about the events of the last night for precisely this reason. After the tremors would come the ache in her head and the tightening of her chest; she knew this as well as she knew her own body and the aftereffects of stressful situations. 

 

So she made her fingers unlace the lovely brocade kirtle, carefully hanging it on a peg to be cleaned in hopes of saving the dress. Her pale green tunic underneath had blood splattered on the hem; she folded the linen and stacked it on a chair along with her hose and her chemise. Now that she was nude, she washed every inch of her body she could reach, scrubbing until her skin glowed red. Her white nightgown was soft to the touch as she slipped it over her shoulders before beginning to take down the braids of her hair. First was the thickest, the long one that fell all the way to her waist; she dropped the precious pins into a bowl on her dresser until all but the two slender front braids were free. Then she untied the leather thongs that held them tight and ran her hands through the golden red mass, freeing the waves to be brushed. 

 

A knock sounded on the door. With a sigh, Virginia gathered herself together, put on her chatelaine face, and slipped into her robe, silky green with quilted warmth, a gift from Anthony. On the other side of the door was Maria Hill, dressed now in a simple outfit of pants, shirt and vest. 

 

“Thane Hill.” Virginia wasn’t sure what to call her, this woman who had saved her life and stirred her interest in a way no one else had. At the meeting earlier, Maria had declared her intent to court Virginia, but they’d barely had a chance to speak since then. “How can I help you?” 

 

“I wanted to ... “ Maria hesitated, glancing up and down the hall. “May I come in?” 

 

“Of course.” Virginia stood aside and let her pass, pushed the door closed behind her. 

 

Her room wasn’t very large; in the past, the chatelaines had a suite higher up in the castle with a lovely view of the city and harbor. She’d moved into the servant’s area at the back, taking two of the smaller rooms for her own. The location was closer to Anthony’s workshop and the office space where she kept the books; it saved her time and kept her part of the castle staff. But it meant she had only a tiny sitting area with two chairs and a double size bed. 

 

“How are you?” Maria asked. “I was worried and couldn’t sleep until I was sure you were doing well.” 

 

“I admit to being flustered; it’s not every day I get kidnapped and find myself in the middle of a sword fight.” She tried to make light of it, but her nerves were still raw and that came through in her voice. “Although, since I’ve been working for Tony, I’ve had lots of new experiences.” 

 

“I’m sorry you were caught up in this,” Maria said. “I would save you from any more danger if I could. Not that you aren’t strong and courageous. I don’t mean you are helpless, not at all. I think you’re amazing and … I’m babbling because I don’t know how to say that I just wanted a reason to see you again.” 

 

She blushed, her cheeks blooming with heat. “I’m glad you came; I wanted to see you too but there was so much to do.”

 

“It’s overwhelming, this feeling. I like being in control and this thing between us is nothing I’ve ever known,” Maria admitted. “Even watching Philip and Clint, I still didn’t quite believe how fast it could come on. You’re all I can think about; all I want is to know what you taste like and how soft your skin is.”

 

Her mother’s voice echoed in her head, warning her about nobles, to not be taken in by their promises. That was before Anthony made her a Lady, but growing up in a cothold shaped her life. And yet, she had no doubt that Maria was her perfect match; every fiber of her body responded to Maria’s nearness, crying out for her to take the two steps into arm’s reach. 

 

“Then find out.” 

 

They moved at the same time, lips colliding as Virginia’s hands closed around Maria’s waist, drawing her close. A heated desire flashed through Virginia, a spark that turned quickly to flame as she parted her mouth and felt the tip of Maria’s tongue swipe inside. Every touch of Maria’s was like a cool breeze that fanned the fire higher. 

 

“I must …” Maria pulled away, her eyes glazed, pupils blown wide. “Please, if you want me to go, tell me now. I don’t know if I can …”

 

“Stay.” She refused to let go, not when she had everything she wanted in her arms. “I am no innocent to be wooed, Maria. I know what I’m doing.” 

 

“Oh, thank the gods,” Maria said with a chuckle. “I was trying to be noble, and I’m not very good at it.” 

 

“I’m glad. I’m not a fan of being proper in the bedroom; I get too much of that during the day.” She leaned in and dragged her lips along the line of Maria’s neck. “Now, I find that I’m not nearly as tired as I thought I was. Perhaps we can work off some of that energy …” 

 

Maria scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom, setting her on her feet by the edge of the down-filled mattress. Untying the sash, Maria slipped the robe off Virginia’s shoulders and laid it across the cedar chest at the foot of the bed. “This is a lovely robe. Is it Pavel’s work? She does such a wonderful job on the stitching details.” 

 

“My one weakness is beautiful clothes and shoes,” Virginia admitted, distracted by the way Maria’s fingertips danced along her collarbone, catching the ribbon on her gown and untying it. The white linen slipped over her shoulders and slid down to the floor, pooling around her feet. 

 

“Gorgeous,” Maria breathed, her eyes tracing the curves of Virginia’s body. “Your skin is flawless, your breasts … gods above, you are stunning.” 

 

She fought back the urge to cover herself, unbuckling Maria’s belt to keep her hands busy.  “I’m small, I know, not much …”

 

Maria didn’t answer; she bent her head and lapped her tongue across one pink nipple. A shiver ran through Virginia’s body and she moaned. “You are perfect,” Maria asserted. “Absolutely perfect.” 

 

Mouth closed around the nipple, Maria backed up and folded them backwards onto the bed, scooting into the middle. Sliding a knee between Virginia’s legs, she suckled hard, nipping and rolling her tongue around the hard nub. Her fingers toyed with the other breast, cupping it and squeezing.

 

“Ah,” Virginia arched her back, her hands burrowing into Maria’s dark hair. “Yes. A little harder. Pinch it, that’s good.” 

 

“You like it that way?” Maria raised her head, blowing her cool breath across the sensitive nub. “Being in control?” 

 

“Oh yes,” Virginia said, squirming under Maria’s constant teasing fingers. “But I’m willing to let go for the right person. Good thing that’s you.” 

 

“Oh, myn bryde, I’m going to take you apart, make you scream, then let you do the same to me.” 

Maria’s palm skimmed over Virginia’s flat stomach and down into the vee between her legs, tangling in the red curls. Slipping between the folds, Maria dragged her finger along the already engorged clitoris. “Look at you, so wet for me.” 

 

Her world narrowed to Maria’s mouth and fingers; a steady throbbing built, centered on her clit, radiating upwards, falling into time with her heartbeat. Maria was nothing if not thorough, testing every inch for sensitivity, marking each spot where Virginia gasped and shook, returning to them time and time again, driving Virginia crazy with need. By the time Maria trailed kissed down her abdomen, Virginia was panting and begging for more. When Maria’s tongue replaced fingers in the crevasse, sucking just as hard on the clit as she had on the nipple, all Virginia could do was cry out, arch her back, and wrap her legs around Maria’s shoulders, giving her full access. Then a slick finger entered her, twisting and tilting until it hit the tangle of nerves that blew the spark into a raging firing. Shouting as she came, Virgina clenched her hands into Maria’s hair and bucked her body as the intense feeling burned through her. 

 

“Oh, heavens,” she moaned, rising up on her elbows. Tendrils clung to her skin, a fan of red hair trailing behind her. “Kiss me. Please.” 

 

Maria obliged, catching Virginia’s face in her hands and pulling her upright, both of them on their knees. Leather rubbed along Virginia’s bare skin, her breasts tingling against the coolness. They kissed for what seemed like an hour but was only a few breaths then the fire bloomed again, never going out, just banked for a moment. Tearing at Maria’s clothes, Virginia pushed the vest off then yanked the shirt up and over Maria’s head,and together they shed Maria’s pants, kicking them off the bed. Hungrily, Virginia sat back on her heels and blew on Maria’s nipples, watching the dusky brown hardenen and small bumps appear in the areole. So much fuller than her own, Maria’s breasts hung invitingly at just the right level for Virginia to suckle; her tongue flicked out, teasing the nubs before she took one in her mouth, reveling in the way the soft skin felt against her lips. 

 

Closing her knees together, she nudged between Maria’s legs, tugging her forward until Maria sat upon her thighs, knees spread wide. Rolling a nipple between her teeth, she dipped her hand into the opening, finding the enlarged bit of flesh that was calling to be touched. Working the cilt between her finger and thumb, Virginia had to tighten her hold around Maria’s waist to keep her from bucking off the bed; every groan was fuel that drove Virginia further. A glow infused the room, fiery red met icy blue, and they began to melt together, heat and cold becoming one. 

 

One finger pressed into Maria’s wetness, a second one expanding her wider. Turning them, Virginia surged up and pressed Maria back into the bed, thrusting her fingers into the right spot just as her mouth sucked in the aching clit. Maria twisted her hips, trying to get closer, and clenched her muscles just before she came, crying out Virginia’s name. 

 

Collapsing on top of Maria, Virginia rested her head between Maria’s breasts and tried to catch her breath. Where her hand lay on Maria’s waist, a handprint burned red; a corresponding blue one burned cold on her inner thigh. 

 

“I don’t think I can walk,” Maria complained, absently rubbing a hand along the knobs of Virginia’s spine. “Looks like I’ll have to stay.” 

 

“Ummmm,” Virginia nuzzled the curve of Maria’s breast. “Since I plan on having you again before the afternoon is out, that’s probably for the best.” 

 

“If I make you come twice in a row, will you wear your robe while I make love to you?” Maria asked. 

 

“You are secretly a clothes hound, aren’t you?” Virginia had never felt so light, her body and soul weighing next to nothing. “We’ll have to go the Capitol and visit Chevase Street together. There’s this little tailor shop that has the best silks from the Outer Isles. Something sapphire blue would make your eyes even more beautiful.” 

 

“Nick always tells me I never spend any money on myself.” Maria’s chuckle vibrated in her chest. “You’re going to be good for me.” 

 

“We’re going to be good together,” Virginia corrected. “Now let me take a quick nap and I’ll show you the tatted lace underwear I ordered from Parance.” 

 

“You’ll wear it for me.” Maria yawned and stretched her arms above her head. “Covers first then sleep. Then sexy underwear.” 

 

“Agreed.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends my first attempt at femslash. Hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Yeah, that's a Jon Snow joke in there. Had to do it. Emma Frost, Johnny Storm ... Jon Snow. ;D
> 
> Couldn't forget Pepper's love of shopping! More coming about both hers and Maria's backgrounds. Neither were born noble. 
> 
> Next chapter is Kate Bishop, Gambit, and some lovely, kinky pirate sex. I'm on break so I hope to have it finished soon. 
> 
> As to the fate of the people on the docks, hold on. We'll get there eventually.


	11. Our Obvious Course is Now to Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Phil meet Kate. Dean gets lucky. Phil worries about Clint. Tony has a dream and finds it easier to forgive. Natasha has her say.

Philip leaned on the railing, watching the swirling eddies of water as the tide rolled in, rising against the side of the ship. The sheltered inlet where they’d weighed anchor was surrounded by tall cliffs and heavy vegetation, tall trees and long trailing branches of weeping willows, all but obscuring the jut of land that protected them from sight. A perfect smuggler’s cove, a winding trail led up to a cave mouth where cargo could be stashed for others to collect. 

 

After they’d left Burosey harbor, Captain LeBeau had sailed south before doubling back to this spot that was no more than a few hour hike back to the castle, giving wide berth to the main shipping lines. Not that Philip knew much about their escape; he’d been too busy healing Clint’s wound to care where they were headed. After all the energy he’d expended, Philip had collapsed in the cabin he’d been pointed towards, sleeping until just after sunrise. While he was out, some of the crew had been dispatched to shore to gather information; they were expected before dark. 

 

Finishing up his sweet tangerine he’d snatched to break his fast, Philip saw a young girl, maybe twelve-years-old, seated on a coil of ropes, a stack of wooden rods by one booted foot and a collection of bird feathers by the other. Her head was bowed, dark hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck, and she was splitting and trimming the quills to make fletching. It was unusual enough to find an arrowsmith at work, much less one as young as this on a ship. Strolling over to her, he sat down on a barrell and watched her work. She was good, clever fingers tying the feathers on the shafts with quick motions. 

 

“You’re Philip Coulson,” she said, tilting her face up so he could see her amethyst colored eyes. “Heir to Lord Nicholas Fury and husband of Lord Clint Barton.” 

 

Such smooth skin, lightly tanned from the sun, dewy with youth, and yet her eyes told a different story of one who’d experienced tragedy and loss. “I am,” Philip answered, meeting her gaze squarely as adult to adult. 

 

She picked up another feather and ran her thumbnail up the quill, measuring and assessing its strength. “I hear Lord Barton is a good archer.”

 

“No,” Phil replied and earned a startled blink for the word. “He’s the best.” 

 

“In his holding?” she challenged, mouth set in a stubborn line. 

 

“In all the Midlands and down to the Outer Isles,” Philip corrected, wondering just where this conversation was going. 

 

“I see.”  She went back to work for a few heartbeats, choosing a section of the feather and cutting it down to size. “Then he must have many apprentices; people would travel from afar to learn at such a master’s feet.” 

 

Lips twisting into a half-smile, Philip answered her. “Of course, but Lord Barton refuses them all. He’s waiting for his successor, the one who will be better than he is, to carry on his legacy.” 

 

Her fingers paused. “He sends them all away?” 

 

“They wail as they go. Day and night, the town can hear them, begging to be taught his secret ways,” Philip concluded.

 

“You, Lord Coulson, are full of shit.” She grinned. “Nobody’s wailing in Fraserton. It’s so cold, their tears would turn to ice.” 

 

“Only in winter. In summer, the apple trees are watered by the rejected students. Our cider is delicious,” he amended. She giggled and bit her bottom lip to keep from bursting into laughter. 

 

“Grown from sadness for your drinking pleasure.” When she smiled, it almost reached her eyes. Almost. 

 

A shadow fell over them; Clint clambered down the rigging, dropping to the deck next to Philip and he lost his train of thought. Clint’s pants clung to his ass, his shirt gone and just his vest loosely anchored with his sword belt. A swath of chest was revealed in the deep vee, and his biceps were on perfect display as he let go of the ropes. 

 

“Good morning. And here I thought you were going to sleep the day away.” Clint leaned in and gave Philip a kiss on the cheek. “I’d sweep you off your feet, but that might be a bit too dramatic even for me.” 

 

“I see you’re going native already,” Philip replied, running a hand down Clint’s bare arm. “Been up in the crow’s nest?” 

 

“I love the view from up there. You can see the top of Stark’s castle with the spyglass when the light hits the window panes.” He turned, saw the girl, and dropped into a squat. Picking up one of the half-complete arrows, he flipped it over his fingers and examined it in minute detail. “This is pretty good. Well-balanced, with the grain, nice pattern on the feltching …” He paused, looked closer at the notches for the arrowhead and then the alternating sinew weaving. “Who taught you to make them like this?” 

 

“Buck.” The girl stared Clint down, daring him to say something. “My archery teacher.” 

 

“Chisholm.” A statement, not a question. “He sent you, didn’t he? What does he want?” 

 

“He said you would help me.” She stood up, drawing herself to her willowy height, tall and slim for her age. “That you’d keep me safe and teach me.” 

 

Clint stilled and Philip felt the tension in the words, the unshed tears just behind those purple irises. “And he’s right. We will,” Philip said gently. “Just tell us who you are and why you need help.” 

 

“My name is Katherine Elizabeth Bishop; my father is … was … Lord Derek Bishop.” Her lip trembled as she spoke but she held herself together. “Our holding was attacked; Buck sent me to hide in an old smuggler’s passage in the well and told me to find you if anything went wrong.”

 

“It’s okay,” Clint told her. “You’re here now, Katherine. Katie? Kate? What does your family call you?” 

 

“Kate.” She sniffed, but didn’t cry. “Those men killed my father and stepmother after they surrendered. I could hear them issue orders; they had a list and they rounded people up and …” She stopped, dashing the gathering tears from the corner of her eyes before continuing. “Everywhere I went there were bands of fighters, in towns and hamlets. If Clerk Grey hadn’t found me, I wouldn’t have made it.” 

 

“The holding’s been taken by the same men who attacked you on the dock,” Remy said from behind them. “They’re establishing a beachhead and preparing to move up the coast. Most of the holders and other townspeople are left to their lives, but watched carefully. But any who might revolt or cause trouble are disposed of.”

 

“From the North and the South. Sweep in and take most of the Midlands before the larger holdings can call in their guard.” Philip shook his head at the simplicity of it. “The King looks out of touch, ineffectual; the people shift their allegiance to the Red Knight’s men who protect them. That would mean …” 

 

“... the Red Knight and these serpent guys are working together,” Clint finished. “And we know the Red Knight’s in hip dip with Tarleton and Loki, working for the Sorcerer. Use the Men of Letters to distract us? Or was Rumlow in league with them too? Get rid of anybody who could stop them.” 

 

“The Sorcerer? Who the fuck is that?” Remy asked. Philip shot Kate a glance then stared at Remy. The pirate just shrugged. “Pirate, what do you expect?”

 

“Wish I knew,” Clint replied. “He’s the man behind the curtain, pulling all the strings. Never seen him, don’t know his name or even if he’s a he. But he’s stirring up power, calling old magics to life, the very kinds of things the Men of Letters deny exist.”

 

“Men of Letters,” Remy spat out the name like a piece of rotten fruit. “Enforcers, that’s what they are. Most of them are little more than mouthpieces for the King’s policies. The islands follow the old ways; magic is an everyday part of life.” 

 

“Hey,” Dean objected from where sat on the stairs, eating a tangerine. “Not all of us are jackasses. Some of us actually want to help people, you know.” 

 

Remy smiled, his white teeth flashing as he turned his charm on high. “Present company excepted,” he said with a wink. “Anyone willing to put up with Clint is crazy enough as it is without adding a Men of Letters title.” 

 

“Stop it,” Clint groused. “You two cannot get together; the world would implode.” 

 

“Now that sounds like fun.” Remy tossed back his bangs and raised a questioning eyebrow Dean’s way. “And since handsome over there can’t die, might be worth a try. We’ve got to wait until Henry and the others return; could be an entertaining way to pass the time. You two in your cabin, Dean and me in mine … we’ll rock the waters and see who comes first, us or the tide.”

 

Philip’s face flushed and he made a noise in the back of his throat, a cross between a gasp and a groan.  “I really don’t think …” 

 

“It’s okay,” Kate said, collecting her pile of finished arrow shafts. “My father was married four times; my last stepmother was only five years older than I am. Trust me, I know all about it.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Go have sex. At your ages, it won’t talk all that long. I’ll be in the crow’s nest.” With that parting shot, she scampered up the rigging, at home in the ropes as she was on the deck. 

 

“I like her,” Clint said, watching her lithe movements. “And if Buck agreed to teach her, then she’s got real potential. She’ll make a good Lady of the holding when she’s older.” 

 

“She’s not the oldest.” Philip had memorized all the Lords and their heirs as part of his studies. “Her older sister, Susan, will be next in line; she’s married to the son of a very rich gem merchant from Parnace. She’ll be called back.” 

 

“Ah.” Clint looked thoughtfully upwards, tracking the raven hair and the swinging feet as Kate sat on top of the main mast, the wheels turning in his mind. A warm spot bloomed in Philip’s chest, a bleed over from Clint; they hadn’t talked about heirs, and now was definitely not the time to bring a young one into their lives, but a budding archer with a penchant for wit would be the perfect candidate. 

 

“Jane passed along a message,” Remy said, pitching his voice lower. “She’s seen two futures; one of destruction and metal, with all out war between the Lords that tears this land apart. Another with battle and sacrifice, but a clearer future. And guess who’s right in the middle of it all? You, Clint Barton, a shipwreck waiting to happen.” He chuckled and looked at Philip. “Seems you’ve picked a dark horse, Philip Coulson. Not that he doesn’t have his charms, I’ll admit. But if Jane’s right … and she always is … the maelstrom has begun and you’ve plunked yourself in the center.” 

 

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Philip replied. “Plus I notice you’re standing pretty close. You didn’t have to let us board last night. There’s no pirate rules that cover old lovers and their spouses dragging trouble behind them.”

 

“True,” Remy agreed. “But it’s much more fun to play the odds, don’t you think? Now, I’m going to take my chances on spending a few hours getting to know that tight young body over there. If I were you, I’d play a rousing game of pirate lord and archer while you have the time. I can send up some chains from the brig if you like.”

 

“I’ve already borrowed some,” Clint said before Philip could frame a reply. 

 

“Of course you have.” Remy chuckled. “Wish me luck.” 

 

He sauntered over to Dean, bracing one foot on the step Dean was setting on, leaning on the thigh high black leather boot. “I have a bottle of the finest malt rye in my cabin. Care to join me for a drink, Letters Boy?” 

 

Dean leaned back, resting on his elbows and surveyed the body presented so casually from thigh to neck. “First off, I’m a hunter and not a boy. Second, it’s pretty damn early to start drinking, and third, pirates can’t be trusted.” Remy started to speak, but Dean held up a hand. “But it’s afternoon in the islands, and I’m not exactly an example of truth and justice myself, so what the hell. Lead on, oh Pirate King, and let’s see just how you like being stalked.” 

 

“Oh gods above.” Philip murmured as the two crossed the deck together. “Well, he knows what he’s doing, I suppose.” 

 

“Indeed. Remy has no idea what he’s getting into,” Clint agreed. Then he waggled his eyebrows. “Me, on the other hand, I know exactly who I want to be inside me.” 

 

“That’s a terrible line,” Philip told him as Clint grabbed his belt and tugged him towards the cabin. 

 

“And yet here you are, trailing along behind me,” Clint shot back. “Almost like you want to fuck me.” 

 

“I’m not sure everyone on the ship knows what we’re off to do,” Philip said following Clint into the shaded hall. 

 

“I could shout it from the crow’s nest,” Clint suggested. “But I’d have to leave you too long.” 

 

He kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot and pulled Philip in for a kiss ass soon as they were inside. Like a starving man, Clint pressed his lips to Philip’s, cradling Philip’s face in his palms. Two years this fall and still Philip felt every touch was new, like it was their wedding night each time they made love. Only now, his magic was in check, swirling into Clint’s music, sparking along the notes and the planes of Clint’s body. 

 

“Do you want to tie me to the chair and interrogate me?” Clint murmured against Philip’s neck. “Or do you want to be the captured pirate?” 

 

“You want to …” Philip groaned as Clint sucked a bit of skin just behind his ear. “Here? Now?” 

 

“It’s a ship, we’re surrounded by pirates and we have Captain LeBeau’s express permission to be as inventive as we want. I even raided his stash of exotic gels.” Clint pulled away and scooped up a small clay pot from the bookshelf anchored on the wall. “Here. Try this one.” 

 

Catching Philip’s hand, Clint spread some of the clear lubricant on the palm, bent his head and blew on it. Tiny spikes of heat warmed Philip’s skin, tingles that were echoed by his magic. “How?” he asked, looking at Clint. 

 

“A woman on Kaywiss Island makes a variety of gels; this one has a little bit of  ginger root extract mixed in. I’m stealing it to take home.” Clint unbuckled Philip’s belt as he spoke. “Now, what’s your pleasure, Lord Coulson? Do you want to bargain for my freedom?” 

 

“I just want you.” Philip ran a hand along Clint’s arm and curled his fingers around his biceps. “Any and every way I can.” 

 

“Mmmmmm.” Clint nuzzled his nose into the crook of Philip’s neck. “Warming gel it is then.” 

 

They took their time undressing each other, drawing lines and tracing curves that tingled and left warm trails. Kissing, long slow explorations, the rhythm of the water a gentle undercurrent to their magic. Safe in a harbor, protected, anchored firmly against the coming storm … Philip fell into Clint’s music, let it wrap around him and soothe the aching memory of a glowing globe heading towards Clint. The sound of Rumlow’s voice putting a price on Clint’s head. Dean falling to the docks, body cold and eyes lifeless. How close Clint came to being the one who died. 

 

He twisted them around and pressed Clint against the wall, parting Clint’s legs with his knee, and rubbing his thigh along the hard ridge of cock in Clint’s pants. The kiss turned demanding; he delved his tongue deep, driven by the image of what might have been. Meeting him with just as much fierceness, Clint shoved a hand down PHilip’s pants, and wrapped his fingers around his cock, squeezing just like PHilip liked as he swiped his thumb over the leaking head. 

 

“Want to play rough?” He asked, half moan, half growl in his throat. 

 

Philip’s reply was  to gather Clint’s wrists and press them against the wall, holding them tight and immobile, mouth diving to suck bruises along Clint’s collarbone and up the line of his neck.  He plundered Clint’s mouth again, then left his own map on Clint’s chest, love bites that circled the hardened nipples before sweeping into to torment the sensitive nubs. 

 

“Could have lost you,” Philip panted against Clint’s skin. “Can’t lose you.”  

 

Clint didn’t fight when Philip yanked him towards the bed, shoving him onto his chest and dragging his pants off by the bottom hem before dropping his own. Resting his knee on the narrow mattress, he pushed Clint thighs, raising him up on his knees and leaned forward to hold him down with a hand on his shoulders. 

 

“You almost died. Dean did die. They’re not going to stop until they kill you.” The words rattled out of Philip’s mouth, each one a punch in his gut. “And it’s all because of me.” 

 

“Phil,” Clint started to lift up but Phil pushed him back down. Slathering his fingers with the gel, Philip spread it around Clint’s hole, down his perineum and over his balls. “Oh, fuck,” Clint groaned. “Hells bells, Phil, that’s not fighting fair.”  When his finger pressed past the tight muscle, Clint bit his lip and pressed back into Philip’s touch. He scooped more gel before he slid the second finger in, blowing across the slick surface. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clint chanted, burying his face in the thin pillow. “Holy shit. That’s … yeah, come on. Give me more. I can take it.” 

 

The tingles began as soon as he covered his own cock; yanking one of Clint’s legs off the bed and bracing it on the floor, Philip lined them up and sheathed himself in one push. The drag of each thrust made the tingles turn to heat and then sparks flew, the burn just this side of too hot, not hurting but making the edges of his vision blur. Leaning over, he draped himself over Clint’s back and snapped his hips until he began to sweat. It was all too much; a maelstrom of fear and need and love and worry swirled inside of him, sweeping Clint up into the growing storm. 

 

“My fault. Can’t lose you. Can’t …” Words poured out of his mouth, slurred along Clint’s skin. “Damn it … need you … can’t let them … hurt you …”

 

Power turned in on itself and curled down Philip’s arms, through their joined bodies, spiraling up Clint’s chest to circle his heart. 

 

“Fucking … Rumlow … glad I … killed him … no one … gets to … you.” 

 

As his orgasm built to a crescendo, Philip’s magic wrought a new spell, neither ownership nor claiming, but protecting and preserving.  He channeled his love and every drop of energy into it, pleading as he did for the gods to understand. Stoking Clint’s cock, Philip tipped over just as Clint came, sight going white as he pulsed deep inside of Clint, words torn from some wild place and tumbling out of his mouth. 

 

_ “In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.”  _

 

He collapsed on top of Clint, gasping for air like a drowning man, a wave of exhaustion crashing over him. Wind rattled the shutters on the port windows, a crackle of thunder punctuating the sudden silence. 

 

“Gods above, Phil,” Clint groaned. “You are not to blame; they are the ones trying to put an end to any who oppose them.”

 

There wasn’t room for both of them to lay on their backs, so Philip rolled to his side and squished himself between Clint and the window. “Clint. It is because of me. They plan to take me for interrogation and the only way to do that is to weaken me by breaking our bond. To do that, they have …”

 

“Kill me. Yeah, I got that.” Clint rolled onto his side, facing Philip, and wound his arms around Philip’s waist, tangling their legs. “They’re going to find that awfully hard to do. Rumlow didn’t even realize I could use magic, Phil. We have the upper hand.” 

 

“He put a price on your head, Clint. Criminals and hunters are going to come out of the woodwork to collect that much gold.” Philip wanted to argue more, but he was so tired that he was losing track of the facts. “You’ll be … over your shoulder … “

 

“Not the first time I’ve been a wanted man, and, hell, this time I’ve got this idiotic title, so maybe that’ll be worth something,” Clint said as his fingers circled at the small of Philip’s back, easing him to sleep. “You think Carol’s going to let me die on her watch? Nat? Bruce will turn berserker and smash the would-be assassin, you’ll blast ‘em with magic, Darcy will make them dance to her tune, James will take them out with a single shot … We’re surrounded by friends.”

 

“I …” He couldn’t remember what he wanted to say, the twilight dragging him to rest. It was as if he’d cast a major spell, this sinkhole that was swallowing him. “I love you,” he managed to mumble.

 

“I love you too.” Clint kissed his forehead and snuggled him close. “Rest, Phil. I’ll wake you when there’s news.”

* * *

 

_ The ground fell away, a pattern of lights beneath him; he soared into the night, spinning, joy welling in his chest as the wind rushed by. A blue light surrounded around him as he turned back, buzzing close to the ground then whizzing up again.  _

_ “Tony?” Virginia’s skin was veined with fire, her eyes aglow with fear.  _

 

_ “Don’t worry, Pep. I’ve got you.” He reached out, hand stretching, but she was gone, plummeting into the raging red flames. _

 

_ The waves crashed on the rubble strewn beach below, flotsam and jetsam washing out to sea. Glass littered the sand, stones spread about from their tumble down the cliff. Among them, metal pieces were scattered, parts of armor and helms, a long metal arm that turned and whistled at him.  _

 

_ “We do this together,” Steven said, laying a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “You get killed, you walk it off.”  _

 

_ “And if we lose?” Anthony saw them all, sprawled out on the battlefield, bloodied and broken from the battle. “I can’t be the one to live.”  _

 

_ Around him, tall buildings lit the night, squares of gold in a canopy of black. The wind pushed at him, tugging him towards the edge. He stared sea, heard the rattled of carriages, smelled the familiar scents of the city -- on the edge of his vision, lightning flashed, a storm brewing.  _

 

_ “What do I call you?” He asked the Green Knight standing beside him.  _

 

_ “I no longer remember my name.” His eyes spun into long quadratic equations that lined his face. “Since he woke me, I serve only as his vision of his goals.”  _

 

_ “And what are those? His goals?” Anthony turned from the sunny panorama of Burosey, closing the doors on the balcony. “What does he want?” _

 

_ “What he always has … to protect the world by cleansing it.” Green turned to purple, yellow to silver. “Humans are a flawed species with violent tendencies.”  _

 

_ “Somehow, that makes a twisted kind of sense.”Anthony finished his drink and sat it on the table. “But you’re not like him; why don’t you leave him, come help us.”  _

 

_ “I am more useful in his good graces, if he has any. No, you are the ones who must stand opposed to him.”  _

 

_ “If we can win.” Anthony looked at his bracer, touched the metal and his armor slid over his skin.  _

 

_ “The pieces are assembling. Together, you can.”   _

 

Anthony woke slowly, coming out of a deep sleep with the ease of floating up to the surface of water. Warm body, anchored by a weight on top of him, smooth sheets beneath one set of outstretched fingers, tendrils of hair curled around the other. Calm, buoyed up by a deep well of satisfaction, his eyelids cracked open the tiniest bit. Sunlight, filtered through the gazey bed drapes, was slanting across the red and gold fabric pattern; not quite sunset, but late in the day. He couldn’t have slept more than four to five hours, but he felt like he spent a week on the beach, doing nothing but soaking up sun. 

 

The weight shifted; Anthony glanced down. Long brown hair splayed in all directions, James’ eyes closed and his mouth open, a tiny line of spittle hanging from the corner. Flesh and bone arm was casually thrown across Anthony’s chest, magical one’s fingers tucked under Anthony’s back. His head was nestled on Anthony’s shoulder, their legs tangled together. A changing of the guard had happened and Anthony had slept through it. 

 

A movement caught his eye; Sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg dangling over the edge, the other knee bent, Natasha was leaning against the wooden post, her red braid loose over her shoulder; from her position, she could see the windows and the door. 

 

Anthony’s blood froze at the sight of the small knife she was flipping with one hand.  Here he was, naked in bed with one of her husbands who, from the half-arousal pressing along his hip, was also without clothes. “I can explain,” Anthony said. He cast about for some sort of reasoning that would suffice, but came up empty. “Sorry, I’ve got nothing.” 

 

“I’m seldom wrong about people,” Natasha said with another twirl of the blade. “but I will admit that I didn’t see past your mask until you came to the Manor. You’ve cultivated the spoiled wastrel into a virtuoso performance.” 

 

“Um, thank you. I think,” Anthony replied. Disturbed by the sound, James shifted, bringing his cock into closer contact and rubbing along the line of hip bone before settling back down. “I aim to annoy.” 

 

“Yes, I guess you do.  The perfect protection for a neglected boy; drive everyone away before they can hurt you.” Her voice was far more gentle than Anthony deserved. “Trust me, I know a little about wearing scary masks. The question is, when you take the mask away, do you know who you are?”

 

A witty comeback popped into his head, his usual first response to personal questions. But he could feel the tug of the nascent bond, her nervousness about his answer. She truly wanted to know, not to judge him, but to understand herself.  

 

“Honestly? I have no idea. Before I was the bad son, I wanted to be the perfect heir. And before that I was too young, relegated to the playroom with a nanny.”  He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t pretending, being what others wanted him to be or rebelling against it. 

 

“I have to believe that underneath, I’m a good person.” She sighed, absently rubbing a hand on the lump in the bed covers that was James’ leg. “Otherwise I can’t live with the things I’ve done. I know you asked Steven why he would want you; the real question is why would you want us, James and I?” 

 

“Well, first off, you’re gorgeous. Secondly, you’re not cowed by the fact I’m Anthony Stark, and, third, you’re gorgeous,” he said. “Not to mention how James helped me when I was kidnapped and you are magnificence personified.”

 

“You’ll change your mind when you learn what I did,” James said, his ice blue eyes filled with anguish. “Tony, I …”

 

“I know. The Red Knight took great delight in telling me you killed my parents. I think he thought it would keep me docile, make me not trust you.” Why was forgiveness so much easier to give to someone else? Anthony wondered. “You were under the control of the Sorcerer’s magic; you can’t be blamed for your actions.” 

 

“But it was my hand on the hilt of the sword. How could you ever let me touch you?” James asked. 

 

“Easy. I just shimmy like this and twist to the side and …” Anthony turned his hips and slid his thigh so it rubbed along James’ cock. “See? Magic.” 

 

“That doesn’t answer …” James protest was interrupted as Steven came into the room. 

 

Steven took out a small medallion, twirled it on its chain and said,  _ “Silence is all we dread.” _  He waited a moment for the charm to take effect then settled on the edge of the bed. “”Tis good you’re both awake; we can share information while we wait. The King is still in his chambers without any suggestion of doing more.” 

 

“He’s awaiting the return of his so-called royal investigators,” Natasha said with a sneer in her voice. “Like Emma Frost is going to find anything from her bathing tub where she’s spent the afternoon.”

 

“What a piece of work that woman is,” James opined. “Does she bite her lovers’ heads off once she’s finished with them?” 

 

“You know what they say, a man without a head …” Natasha nudged him. “She just freezes their balls and they’re thankful to be alive.” 

 

“Actually, she’s terrible in bed,” Anthony said before he thought better of it. 

 

“Oh, ho, do tell, experienced one,” James said. 

 

“Gentlemen, the pillow talk can wait. I’ve been walking the castle’s defenses.” 

 

Steven looked like he was settling in for a long debriefing; Anthony interrupted him and nudged James to the side. “Can I put on some clothes first? And I need a drink if we’re going to do this.” 

 

“Of course,” Steven replied, moving so Anthony could get out of bed. Everyone else waited. 

 

“Okay, if you want to watch, whatever,” Anthony swung his legs over the edge and walked to the dressing screen where his silk robe hung. Every step, he felt their eyes on him, taking in the lean curve of his back and the curve of his ass. Despite what he let others think, he kept fit, sparring daily with Rhodes and learning various martial arts including some of the more obscure ones from other countries. He knew the dangers that lurked; his father had insisted he be prepared to be a target. Four kidnapping attempts that failed and one that succeeded had brought that truth home. 

 

Once he tied the robe, he paused and poured a small snifter full of brandy, offering to the others, who all refused. Taking the wingback arm chair near the fireplace, Tony raised his glass and sipped. “Let’s get started then.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was careful to say that it's only a very light touch of ginger root oil used in the gel. STraight ginger root burns; while some people enjoy that feeling, during the medieval times, ginger was used sparingly to create warming lube (yep, they had lube back then, scented and flavored). 
> 
> To me, Natasha fits with Tony because they both hid behind created personalities, protecting themselves by pushing others away. I hope that connection comes through here. 
> 
> "A vision of his goals" hehehehehe. Yep, that's Vision who's been playing both sides.


	12. We Must Not Lose Our Senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm is on top of them, four become one, and Clint and Philip are at ground zero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. I was out-of-town for a week and got no writing done on the trip. :)

“Well, that was a monumental waste of time,” Anthony groused, tossing his expensive leather jacket over the back of a chair. “Watching Emma flirt with Osborne was too much even for me.”

 

“Loki was notably absent,” Steven mused, pouring himself a drink. “And the King was drunk before he sat down.  I hate to say it, but the kingdom is ripe for the picking. Between Loki’s manipulations, the Men of Letter’s aspirations, and the King’s ineffectual rule, the Sorcerer’s already laid the groundwork.” 

 

“Too many live comfortable lives and don’t want to see the signs,” Natasha said, unlacing her surcoat and removing it before accepting a tumblr full of whiskey. “Evil counts upon human’s inherent inertia, our fear of change.” 

 

“That’s too much philosophy for me,” James sat on the edge of the bed and held one leg up for Steven to pull off his boots. “Only thing we control is what we do. And I’m done with formal dinners and stuck up nobility for today. Rhodes has the castle locked up tight, and Sue’s called in Benjamin Grimm to help. John Storm might be a hot head, but he’s got a sword arm on him. Come to think of it, he reminds me of you, Stevie right after you changed, so ready to charge onto the front lines.”

 

“I was young and idealistic back then.” Steve sat the boots neatly by the fireplace then he sat and let James do the same for him. “Before you knocked some sense into me.” 

 

“Ha,” James rolled his eyes. “I’m still banging my head against your stubbornness. Like right now and your insistence that we all sleep.”

 

“I personally vetted the nine guards on watch,” Steven argued. “We need time for the bond to grow; the stronger it is, the more likely we are to survive this. You’re right, and you know it; that was just the first foray. The main wave is coming. Tonight, tomorrow night, they’ll attack.” 

 

“Almost half the ships in the harbor are sailing tonight or on the morning tide,” Natasha added. She’d slipped off her short boots, her small feet pressed against the cool marble. “There was a rush today at the market, drovers taking low prices to sale the last of their herds. I heard the same thing over and over again; get out of the city for a while until it’s all over.” 

 

“More the reason to take this time.” Steven caught James by the belt loops and tugged him onto the bed. “We’ll need each other’s strength and support.”

 

“You silver tongued devil.” James scooted back and flopped onto the big bed. “If you want in my pants, you know the answer is yes. Always.” 

 

“The point,” Steven trapped James’ foot as he wiggled his toes along Steven’s belt line. “Is to answer Tony’s question. Why he belongs with us; he has doubts.” 

 

“Who doesn’t?” James asked, his other foot burying beneath Steven’s thigh. “I still don’t believe I’m worth it even after all these years. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to go for it though. Rather take the chance.” 

 

“I don’t even doubt; I know I’m not meant to have a happy ending,” Natasha admitted. “But I’ve never been the type to avoid risks and if bits and pieces of happiness are my lot, then I’m taking them all.” 

 

“And here I thought I was the most screwed up one in the room.” Anthony tried to laugh but it came out haltingly. “The three of you have everything you need; I’m just added baggage. Don’t need your pity; I can find plenty of people to fuck if I’m feeling down.” 

 

“You can’t see it, can you?” Natasha asked; she reached her hand over and placed it on top of Anthony’s. “Look. See how we fit together.” 

 

James sat up and spread his legs on either side of Steven, pressing his chest to Steven’s back. Both flesh and metal fingers pulled Steven’s shirt out of his pants and lifted it over his head. As Anthony watched, numbers overlaid their bodies, outlining muscles and limbs. Steven, all primes, indivisible, strong enough to build even the most complex formula upon. James was that complexity, long strands of numbers and variables, symbols and signs; some phrases tightly controlled from his time under the Sorcerer’s thumb while others transcended even Anthony’s understanding.  Slotted together, Steven solved so many of James’ equations, and James provided Steven with a scaffold to build upon. 

 

But there were holes, places where the numbers didn’t add up. That’s where Natasha flowed into the mix. She was the most abstract of math, where values were variable and the concept broke from the real world application. Connections, that’s what she was, the ability to see where Steven applied to James, and James to Steven. To provide the bridge so they could be both and yet not. All three of them were magnificent to look at, beautiful bodies with intricate lines and geometric shapes. Anthony was awed by the strings that spun off of them, that bound them together. 

 

“Now look at yourself,” Steven told him. 

 

He turned his gaze to the tenuous line that spindled from him to the others. A red and gold string that threaded through their joined numbers, tying it all together, jumping gaps and making patterns. But it was more than that; as four, Anthony’s mind spun solutions to problems, ideas for inventions, taking leaps of logic that were like flying. 

 

“This is why you’re so important, Tony,” James said. “Well, that and you’re gorgeous.” 

 

That made Anthony chuckle and broke the hold on his tongue. “I have to say this is the most creative come on I’ve ever experienced. You could have just liquored me up; works like a charm.” 

 

“Sex doesn’t have to be part of the bond.” Steven was very serious despite the fact that James was kissing a line down his throat and across his shoulder. “I mean, yes, it does help; skin-to-skin contact amplifies it, but holding and touching and sleeping together can be just as important.” 

 

“Sometimes, I just watch,” Natasha added, standing up and pulling off her linen shirt, revealing pert breasts with lovely pink areoles. The loss of her hand’s warmth turned Anthony’s view dim; he immediately missed her strength. “Not tonight, though.”

 

Anthony watched her shimmy out of her leather pants, the curves of the her ass so taut and smooth, a hollow where it met her thigh.  She fluffed a pillow, placed it against the wooden headboard and settled down. 

 

“That’s my bed, you know,” Anthony groused as James lost his shirt. Three beautiful people in various states of undress and Anthony was sitting in a chair, his cock growing harder by the second, wondering just what to do. Normally, he was in control, maintaining his distance by giving the other person pleasure. But this time he wanted in a new way; to be desired for himself and not his title or money. To have others to count on, like Pepper and Rhodey, but who also shared his bed. Something Anthony never thought he could have. 

 

“Indeed it is,” Steven agreed, turning so he could push James into Natasha’s arms. “Big enough and soft; I enjoyed sleeping with you earlier; if you like, you could join us. I know I’d like it.” 

 

He almost broke when Steven took off James’ pants -- lean legs, rippled abdomen and a cock to be proud of, uncut and flushed red. But he held himself back, tied down by his insecurities, still unsure. Even when Steve stepped out of his pants … and that was a sight Anthony would never get tired of … he kept his now straining cock under control. This could go so wrong, and he could lose all of them.

 

Then Steven bent his head and licked the hard line of James’ cock, and Anthony gave in. He’d never been one to deny what he wanted and James had a point. Taking the risk, Anthony stood, tossing off his shirt and putting a knee on the bed. “Contact it is,” he said, nudging Steven out of the way so his tongue could replace his. James grinned at him, and Natasha slid her hand to cover Anthony’s. “I should warn you; I’m pretty good at this, or so I’ve been told.” 

 

“Yeah, well, I reserve judgement; Stevie’s got a damn fine mouth and Nat, well, I know better than to say one is better than the other.” James wiggled his hips, inviting Anthony to get on with it. “Do your best.” 

 

This, Anthony understood; he’d used sex as a way to dodge decisions before. Give his partner … or partners … pleasure and they wouldn’t notice if he didn’t enjoy it as much as they did. So he’d learned techniques, read what he could, become the best at bringing others to climax. He opened his mouth and took James inside, sliding his lips over the heated skin; he could lose himself in the sensation, slow down his mind and keep the numbers from spinning out of control. Strong hands clasped his waist, unlaced his pants, drew them off; Anthony straddled James’s legs and kept working up and down on his cock. 

 

Then Steven’s fingers circled his hips just as Natasha took his other hand and James wound his in Anthony’s short cropped hair, and the world changed. Phrases of their equation began to solve themselves, long strings collapsing into answers that filled variables in other strings. As he slid up, he breathed out and moaned, his own cock aching harder than he ever remembered. Perfect symmetry, each problem solved easily, the most arousing feeling Anthony had known. Better than when he was caught up in a project, hip deep in parts and surrounded by vellum drawings. 

 

So this was how it felt, he thought as he parted his lips and took in the whole of James’ cock in one plunge. Sensations were new, as if this were his first time; the velvety feel of the head, the salty taste, the tickle of the curly hair on his nose.  Calloused tips grazing his scalp, warm palms squeezing hands, long fingers biting into his hips.  The press of Steven’s cock along his back, rubbing a trail of come, patiently waiting for Anthony’s decision of what happens next. 

 

“Do it,” Anthony rasped, his throat raw with desire. “Please.”

 

“Are you sure?” Steven leaned over to speak directly in Anthony’s  ear; the move made his cock slip between them and over Anthony’s empty hole. 

 

“Yes. I … I want to know the answer, for all the variables to be solved.” He looked up at James and Natasha who broke their kiss to return his gaze. “What could we be together?” 

 

“Let’s find out,” Steven said.  His fingers skirted around Anthony’s tight muscle then one pressed in; even that small a breech sent skitters of awareness up his spine. 

 

Before he could go back to work on James, he and Natasha shifted, releasing their holds. The sound that came from Anthony’s throat was closer to a whine than a groan. James laughed, lifted Anthony’s chin and gazed in his eyes. “Who do you want? Me or Natasha?”

 

“Holy above all,” Anthony’s mind shorted out at the option. Two fingers scissored him open, and he had the choice of who to sink into. “I don’t … ah, fuck … either, both, all at once, I just …” 

 

And then he stopped talking, his tongue unable to make any sounds beyond groans and moans. Steve filled him, inch by inch, and wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling Anthony upright until he was sitting on Steven’s lap. Dropping his head back on Steven’s broad shoulder, Anthony grabbed onto Steven’s arms as he settled down more, Steven’s thick length spreading him wider. 

 

“I’ve got you,” Steven promised before he kissed Anthony’s neck, just behind his ear. 

 

“Hold tight,” Natasha told him, straddling him and stroking his cock with her hand. “We’ll take care of you.” 

 

As she sank down on his cock, guiding it into her moist heat, her breasts bobbed before him and Anthony couldn’t resist the pink nubs. Sucking one in his mouth, he rolled it with his tongue, pulling hard then lapping at it before sucking it in again. Now he could put his hands on her hips and, once he realized what James was doing with his gelled up fingers, Anthony cupped Natasha’s ass and spread her cheeks for better access. Everyone waited, poised, muscles tense as James eased himself inside of Natasha. 

 

Numbers spun and turned on their axis, a pirouette that reconfigured the strands into something unique and new. He could felt the slide of Bucky’s cock through Natasha, so close inside her. Steven’s breathing ruffled the tiny hairs on his neck. Natasha’s nippled pebbled in his mouth, clenching and hardening along the line of his teeth. The first movement -- Natasha lifting up so slightly then rocking back down -- made him kick off from the formula and fly into abstract equations. A rhythm, stuttering at first then slowly evolving into push and pull, up and down, became an orbit of planets and their satellites, the stars filling the voids between.  Natasha kissed Steven; Anthony lifted his head from her breast and found James’ mouth waiting to be filled with his tongue. Hands were everywhere, hips, waists, thighs, breasts, shoulders, and a surge flashed through them, magic so pure and strong that arched between bodies and hearts. His chest began to glow, white lined with blue, and other colors joined it. Natasha’s dark red, James’ silvery white, Steven’s deep blue. Circles within circles, the universe within four people. 

 

He was on the cusp of something, rocketing into unknown territory; he sucked on Natasha’s neck, slipping his fingers inside the folds of her sex, finding the nub. She gasped and he rubbed harder, her bucking hips and clenching tight around both Anthony and James. LIke a chain reaction, pleasure skittered through them; Natasha cried out and came, James grunted and surged up, taking Natasha with him as he collapsed onto his back with a long sigh. The arm across Anthony’s chest loosened; Steve moved, Anthony braced himself on his elbows and then Steve was pounding into him. A warm mouth slid over his cock -- James, scooting around -- and the last piece of the equation rounded up and there it was, a simple solution, so complex and yet not. 

 

His climax overtook him and he came, crying out wordlessly. The cosmos swirled around him and he heard it, the music of the spheres, math made poetry. Reveling in it, he floated, ever aware of the other three who floated with him, were him. He knew what they knew, felt their emotions, understood their pain. Steven, shaking, as the potion changed him. James, tortured and strapped down, freezing in the cold. Natasha, so tiny, huddled in a dirty corner, so hungry. 

 

“Tony.” Natasha’s voice was soft, her fingers threading through his hair. “You still with us?” 

 

Eyes slowly opened; red curls brushed his chest, emerald eyes turned his way. “Don’t know. Did I just have awesome four way sex? Then, yeah, I’m here.” Snuggling up to Steven’s warmth, Anthony sighed and let his eyes drift closed.  

 

“I’m going to check on …” Natasha started to get up, but James circled his arms around her waist and curled around them both. 

 

“Steve’s right. We all need sleep; the bonding took a lot out of us.” James nuzzled his nose into the crook of Natasha’s neck. “My Natalia. Let your mind rest.” 

 

“Natalie,” Anthony murmured,already drifting off.

 

“Natasha,” she corrected. 

* * *

 

“You could have told us he was a mage,” Ororo said, sitting down beside Clint on the forecastle railing. “We’d have battened down the hatches when you disappeared into the cabin.” 

 

Clint merely raised an eyebrow. “You did see those men on the docks, the ones who wanted to kill us?” 

 

“I suspected someone had developed a major talent; the spiritus mundi is expanding, quickly.” She looked up at the stars and was silent for a moment. “The cycle has spun around again and the darkness has returned. I just didn’t know how far along we are. You, at the center of it all. Never could have imagined that.”  

 

“You and me both.” He’d never understand how he became caught up in this, a useless second son turned mercenary turned reluctant Lord Holder. “But I wouldn’t trade having Phil for anything.” 

 

“True love.” Ororo’s mouth turned up at the edges. “Another impossible thing yet here the two of you are.”

 

The night was humid, the last hurrah of summer in the moist air. A chorus of frogs croaked in the shallows, a haunting sound that filled the cove. “What’s coming … what’s here. It’s going to be bad,” Clint finally said. “I’ve dreamt of death and war, bloody battlefields. No one, no place is safe. You and the crew should head south, find an island and weather the storm.” 

 

“You honestly think I’m sitting this out?” Remy came up the stairs in just his pants, his chest bare. “Hiding might be the best chance of survival, but we’ve a better turn at getting rich if we engage the enemy.” 

 

“Rich, but dead,” Clint said. “Die young, huh?” 

 

“And still good looking,” Remy agreed. “Ain’t no place to avoid this evil. Sticking our heads in the sand will only expose our asses. We’re sailing to the Outer Keys to meet up with some others, form a flotilla. Pillage a few ships along the way.” 

“And if you happen to save a few innocent civilians …” Clint knew the answer; Remy would never admit to having a heart, but he did have his own rules. 

 

“Pirate,” Remy said with a grin. “You’ll never hear of it if I do.” 

 

“I’m off to my bunk now that my relief is here. Do me a favor and check on Kate in the crow’s nest before you start drinking with this wastrel. She prefers sleeping there,” Ororo said as she stood up. 

 

“No drinking for me. I’m an old married man; I’m going to join my husband and get some more sleep.” Clint stood, caught a rope and climbed up, past the mizzenmast and the topsail. Balancing on the pole, he looked over the edge and saw the girl curled into a ball, holding a beautiful recurve bow tight to herself. From this vantage point, clouds scuttled across the moon, dark patches obscuring the deck below. Clint could see the flicker of candles in cottages on the shore, the brighter glow over the ridge from the city.  On the other side was the vast blankness of the ocean, unremitting black with no horizon … he froze as his eyes fell on a smattering of tiny lights, floating a few miles further north. Ships, a lot of them, lying just beyond the jut of the vineyard peninsula. The perfect place to hide.  He focused in on the music,used his magic to enhance his hearing; clanking metal, creaking wood, flapping sails, and an occasional voice, but nothing that gave any hint of who they were. 

 

He scrambled down, dropping next to Remy who stood at the wheel.  “Don’t think you’re going to make that meeting of yours. We’ve got hostiles to the north. At least forty ships.” 

 

“Mon Dieu.” Remy shook his head. “The war is here.” 

* * *

 

She tried to watch the sunrise from the pinnacle tower at least once a week. Something about the subtle lightening that went from black to grey to rosey hues made her believe there was hope for each day. As the first golden sliver topped the horizon, she felt the second presence stepped up beside her, knew a moment before Maria’s arm slipped around her waist, could feel the surge of the bond at the touch. 

 

“The castle’s as secure as we can make it,” Maria said, dropping a kiss on Virginia’s temple.  “Rhodes’ is working his way through the guard, but deciding who’s lying is proving difficult.” 

 

“James knows them all; he’ll want to believe them innocent.” Virginia gave a half chuckle. “I know each one by name, their spouses and kids. How could they do this? Turn against us?” 

 

“The Men of Letters are powerful; they teach our children and say they’re protecting us. There’s a lot a man will do to save their family.” Maria hugged her close. “Don’t take it to heart, my darling. 

 

They stood together, Virginia’s head on Maria’s shoulder, until the sea and sky were separate and the city awash in the early glow. And yet, she saw shadows dart through the streets, flickers in the corner of her eyes. 

 

“They’re coming, aren’t they?” Virginia asked. 

 

“Yes.” Maria said.

* * *

 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Dean said, eyes darting around the tavern’s main room. “She’s twelve and we’re going to send her in there on her own?” 

 

“I’m sitting right here,” Kate said, kicking Dean’s shin under the table. “And I’m almost fifteen. I could be married and Lady of my own keep by now. Besides, nobody looks twice at a page and I’ve been in the castle before.”

 

They’d made their way into town dressed as drovers; the market season was at its height and no one would look twice at people who had sold their cattle and were spending the day in town.  Disguise was kept to a minimum; the secret of going undetected was not to go overboard.  So Clint had run muddy hands through his hair, darkening his blonde locks and making it spiky. Phil had taken one of Remy’s scarves, a simple brown one, and used it as a mouth covering; a little makeup and his skin was the sun-brown of someone who worked outside. A drover’s hood and smudges of dirt for all of them made a happy family. This tavern catered to the market goers; they fit right in at their corner table. 

 

“I wish we’d been able to get a message through, but the wards are too strong.” Philip sighed, and Clint couldn’t hide his worry. His husband was still not back to his prime; he’d overused his magic and hadn’t built his energy back up. Dark circles haunted his eyes, and he had been far too quiet on the journey into town. 

 

“Darcy’s safe at least,” Clint said, watching a group of horse traders getting drunk two tables over. Their voices had been getting louder with each new round. 

 

“Feegan says it was Men of Letters what tried to stop ‘em,” one of them said. “The guard’s been asking questions on the docks. Heard that woman who runs the Flying Pig made a real fuss, refused to let them in the door. People have had enough; this is the last straw.” 

 

“Nobody listenin’, that’s a fact,” another one replied. “Lady Frost don’t give one whit about the attacks; Robin down at the stable? He says she meets with some strangers dressed all in black every now and then in one of their private rooms.” 

 

“Never trusted the Men of Letters after they took Denny’s sister’s little boy because he was special.” The third man was the angriest, his voice the loudest. “Bunch of …”

 

“Not here,” the oldest cut him off. 

 

Dean winced. “Seems no one at the top is paying attention,” he said, keeping his voice low. 

 

“Sebastian took his boat out early,” a third man said. “There’s a lot of ‘em leaving port; the weird weather last night, strange comings and goings … Old Mildred over in Nanport read the tea leaves and said war was on our doorstep. I’m thinking she’s right.” 

 

“That Strange fellow in the Hells was walking the streets; I saw him go into the Bleecker Pub,” the other one said.

 

“We’ll head out soon as we’re done eating,” the oldest man declared. 

 

“Aw, Pa, you promised we’d go back to that stall in the market, get Momma that pretty necklace and earrings for Junnie,” the boy at the end of the bench argued. “We promised to bring them back something from the city.” 

 

The three men exchanged glances; the family markers in their face -- cheeks, chin, nose -- told the story of a father and sons. “It’s not far,” one of the sons said. “We get packed, run down there and back real quick, and we can be on the high road in an hour.” 

 

“Henne and I will pack while you take Jessif to the market. And get some of those meat pies fresh out of the oven for the journey,” the father relented. 

 

The door opened and an old woman entered, bent from rheumatism, walking with a wooden cane. She tottered across the crowded floor, making her way to their table; only Clint could see the tell, the slight crinkling around her eyes as she saw Dean, the downturned corner of her mouth at Kate’s presence. “Couldn’t pick a nice place? No, I have a cheap bastard for a son; make me come to you.” She sat down and banged her fist on the table to get the server’s attention. “Got some of that summer mead left? I’ll take a pint.” 

 

“Mother,” Clint said, a fondness in his tone; he loved Natasha’s disguises, especially this one. “Order what you want. We made a good sell this morning.”

 

“Treat me to a bowl of stew, big spender,” she groused. “And let me say hello to my granddaughter and nephew.” 

 

The hug she gave Dean was genuine; she squeezed him and whispered something in his ear. He blushed and rolled his eyes at Clint. Then she turned to Kate and the girl stared challengingly at her. 

“I’m too old to hug, Grandma,” Kate said, dragging out the name. “You promised.” 

 

“I did, didn’t I.” Natasha eyed her up and down. “Such a sassy mouth on her. I blame you for that.” 

 

“Comes from you, Ma,” Clint shot back. The server brought over bowls for everyone and he  waited until she was gone before speaking again. “Eat fast; we’re leaving for home early.”

 

“Well, you have a brain after all. That I’ll take credit for.” She dipped her spoon in the thick broth; basic but hearty, the stew was good. “Give me an hour and I’ll be packed. It’s a good time to spend some time with my family on the farm.” 

 

Clint knew how to read her every movement and now, with the bond’s magic, he sensed the urgency and her worries. The situation at the castle must be as serious as the ships waiting offshore. And yet, Clint could see the change in Natasha’s aura, the twined colors, four now instead of three. They couldn’t talk here, too many ears, but he’d grill her about it later. 

 

They chatted as they ate; patrons came in and left, gossip and rumors running rampant. The Lady in Green who’d cast the calming spell, according to the whispers, was a priestess of the mythical Green Snake. The Men of Letters had sold their souls to Bael, the King’s mind under Loki’s control.  Clint ducked his head when a group of hired guards suggested The Archer had been on the escaping boat, making impossible shots as they sailed away. 

 

As the crowd cleared out, Clint left a mixture of coins on the table and they gathered up their packs, walking at Natasha’s slow pace. He offered her his arm to get down the stairs, but she pushed it away with a huff. Setting the direction, Natasha led them towards the Hells, a part of Burosey where tenements hung over the tight streets, each one filled with families living in small rooms. The guard patrolled the main throughways, but the side alleys were havens for pickpockets and thieves. As they turned between a bakery and a butcher shop, Natasha slipped off her wig, standing up straight and dropping the cane into a round bin. By the time they exited the narrow way, she was a different woman, one easily mistakable for Kate’s mother. 

 

“So, Anthony?” Clint asked. 

 

“How’s Remy?” Natasha asked back. 

 

“Ask your nephew,” Clint replied. Dean sputtered and blushed when Natasha turned her gaze on him. 

 

“This is why I don’t let you go out alone,” she replied. 

 

“There are things we need tell you.” Philip caught up to her and lowered his voice. 

 

“I know.” She forestalled the conversation. “But first, we’ve a visit to make.”

 

Winding through the tight streets, they turned into a blind alley; crates were piled against the wall, packing straw strewn across the cobblestones. As Natasha stepped up to a nondescript door, raised her fist and rapped her knuckles on the wood, Philip caught Clint’s arm and whispered in his ear. 

 

“I don’t like the feel of this place,” he said, his eyes roaming over the lathe and plaster. “Can you see it?” 

 

As he ran his gaze upwards, squiggles came into focus, lines of magic that circled and turned into symbols across the house from foundation to eave. They pulsed with power, colors changing, a spectrum in their depths. 

 

“Nat, are you sure …” Clint started to asked, but the door swung open, revealing an empty hallway on the other side. “That’s odd.”

 

“It’s an odd sort of place,” Natasha replied. “He’s expecting us, I’m sure.”

 

Clint shrugged and followed her inside, taking Philip’s hand as they crossed the threshold.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not a mathematician nor an engineer, so I'm using literary license in my descriptions of how Tony sees magic. The Consolation of Philosophy is from Boethius, and I do know medieval philosophy, so there you go. :)
> 
> Hold your breath. After a visit to that "Strange" man in the Hells (hehehehehehehe), the battle begins. I've never tried to write something on this scale, so I hope it works.


	13. For Your Foes are Fierce and Ruthless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen Strange is an arrogant ass. Clint travels the hallway between dimensions. The Sorcerer puts in an appearance ... sort of. And the first salvo is fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick disclaimer. Everything I know about Stephen Strange I learned from watching the 2007 Dr. Strange animated movie.

“Natasha, so good to see you.” The man who stood on the stairs, hand on the elaborately carved wooden bannister, was tall and slim, black goatee trimmed neatly around his mouth and chin. He wore simple black pants and vest, a black shirt underneath, and carried the slimmest of swords on his belt, a fine silver rapier.  “And congratulations on your bondings, all of them. You never did do things by halves. Might just be what Stark needs … and I’d love to meet Barnes and Rogers.”

 

Glancing over, Clint took his cue from Natasha’s calm smile as she replied. “I’m sure we can arrange that later. Never known you to send a message when things weren’t about to get dangerous.” 

 

“So true. That’s when I’m needed.” He turned to the others. “But look who you’ve brought with you, Little Spider. The Hunter, the Mage, and the Hawk, plus … who are you, little one? Let me see you.”  He leaned over and eyed Kate.  “The Young Hawk herself. ‘Tis truly advanced if the next generation are arising as well.”

 

“You seem to know a lot about us, but we know nothing of you,” Philip said. His tension wound tighter as the man descended the stairs, bleeding over to Clint. 

 

“He’s Stephen Strange,” Dean answered for him. “A mystic and visionary, according to the Men of Letters. A sorcerer supreme, if you listen to the hedge witches.In the Western Isles, they believe he’s a Priest of the Principalities. And this is the Sanctum Sanctorum.” 

 

“And you are Dean Winchester, which in and of itself is fascinating considering the implications of your presence … I assume your brother Samuel is here as you’re a package set.” Strange cocked his head and looked at Dean’s skeptical face as he spoke.

 

“A sorcerer? We’ve already got one of those; why would we need another?” Clint drawled. Whoever this was, Clint had enough of the vague and obscure statements. “Those are mighty titles and yet I’ve never heard of you.”

 

“I do not use magic the way Lord Coulson does; the word mystic would be more appropriate,” Strange answered. “I am a traveler of worlds, a seer in all the realms. I have studied the ways of the Ancient One and guard the doorways to dimensions.” 

 

“That clears things up.” Clint let the sarcasm hang on his words. “Doors and worlds and realms. And I’m the Lord of the Bow, Guardian of the String, Keeper of All Strays. Nice meeting you, but we’ve got important business to be about.” 

 

“Your choice of titles is telling,” Strange said. “But I flatter myself to say the information I can import is just as important.  Perhaps we can ...” 

 

“I don’t trust this guy,” Dean practically growled as he interrupted. “He’s neck deep in arcane study and friends with Head Master Pierce.  This could be a trap.” 

 

“Alexander’s defection was unexpected, even to me.” A shadow crossed his face. “The closer I am, the harder it is to see clearly.”

 

“If I may, tea is ready in the study.” The man appeared as if he’d always been in the room; Dean jumped but Natasha didn’t. No more than five feet tall, he boasted Erasa cheekbones and a smooth chin.and jaw. Winkles radiated from the corner of his eyes and mouth, a wizen look of one who’d seen much in his lifetime.

 

“Monk.” Natasha inclined her head and gave him a slight smile.

 

“Tessa.” Dark brown eyes looked her over. “You are softer. Had we time, I’d see if you are slower as well.”

 

“I’ll show you slow, old man,” she replied. “But you’re right; it will wait for my next visit.” 

 

“Monk? This is him?” Clint stepped forward and offered his hand. “I finally get to meet the man who taught the Widow how to kick …” he paused, glanced at Kate “... to fight.” 

 

The man’s fingers tightened around his, the wrinkled skin and age spots doing nothing to lessen the strength in the muscles and tendons. “She speaks of you often, Eye of the Hawk. Come, let us sit and drink together. The doctor isn’t very good at meeting new people, but he means well.” 

 

Biting back a smile, Clint followed up the stairs and past Strange.  He’d heard so much about Monk, the man who had, for a time, offered Natasha a safe haven and training in martial arts. It hadn’t lasted, but then people with enemies can never stay in one place too long; still, Monk had remained a friend and mentor. None of this explained why they were here, but it went a long way to soothing Clint’s worries about this Strange character. 

 

“If we could get to the point?” Natasha suggested as she sat down. Monk handed her a delicate china cup decorated with roses and lined with gold then passed them out to everyone. “As much as I understand the male need to establish hierarchy, I’m quite ready to move on.” 

 

“Especially with a flotilla just off the coast, preparing to attack,” Clint added. “We’re burning sunlight.” 

 

“Time isn’t the same in the Sanctorum; you need not worry.” Strange leaned against the mantle of the ornate fireplace, flickering flames heating the room. Clint glanced up at the high ceiling, the length of this one room far too long for the small house they’d entered. Given all the wards around the place, Clint wasn’t surprised that the inside was bigger than the outside. Still, the man was far too smug for Clint’s liking.  “But Natasha is correct. The spiritus mundi is disturbed; the balance is shifting through all the worlds. Such energy … when it releases, the wave will swamp more than this dimension. A great magic is in the works, one older than even I am.” 

 

“Great balls, speak plainly, man,” Dean sighed. “If you know something, spit it out and let us get on with it.” 

 

“Said the man who cannot die,” Strange replied. “But you are right. Lord Barton, if you’d be so kind, I think we can get to the point.” Strange picked up a crystal ball, swirling with shades of blues and greys, large enough he needed both hands to cradle it. Standing in front of Clint, he held it out. “Please stay seated and make a connection with your bonded. That will ground you and help you remain anchored.”

 

“Scrying?” Philip leaned in to get a good look at the magical device. “Is there a danger of spirit and body division?”

 

“A slim chance. Traversing the path this way is the safest,” Strange explained. “‘Tis easiest to see what I have seen than for me to explain.” 

 

“Why me?” Clint asked. “Surely Philip is better equipped to handle magic?” 

 

“You are the center; all threads weave into your story. Look or don’t look. It’s up to you.” 

 

Curiosity won out, along with Natasha’s tiny nod. Taking Philip’s hand, he dropped his eyes to the curling colors. “So what am I going to see? Can I eavesdrop on the King? Figure out where Alexander Pierce went to?” 

 

When no one answered, Clint looked up to find the room empty. 

 

“Phil?” Clint turned in his chair.  The door they’d entered through was gone, library shelves in its place. A new entrance was beside the fireplace, an archway that led to a stone floored hallway. “Nat? Dean? Where did everyone go? Is this some …” 

 

A shadow blocked the light; into the room stepped a muscular rugged frame with a familiar face. Handsome with a crooked nose and weathered skin, the man cocked his head and spoke. “You going to sit there or come see what you’re here for?” 

 

“Barney.” Now Clint knew this was the scrying at work. “Are you my spirit guide?” 

 

“Close enough.” Blue eyes sparkled with his old humor like when he’d dragged Clint into trouble “I’m what you conjured up to show you the way.” 

 

“Huh. Why not Phil?” Clint stood and crossed the room. “I would think he’d be first in my mind.” 

 

“Oh he is. First and middle and last.” Barney preceded him into a long hallway, walls lined with all shapes and sizes of doors. “I’m sure you’ll see him soon.” 

 

To Clint’s left was a wooden door, perfectly round, painted emerald green. On the right, a heavy iron grate covered a simple paneled door. Gold gilt winked from another, carved mahogany further down, bronze almost out of sight. The hall seemed to bend, to disappear as it dwindled, an endless line of possible exits. Turning, he looked behind; more doors, more hall, no archway to the study. 

 

“And just what am I supposed to do? Open all these?” A wave of dizziness overcame Clint as he stared at the length of floor. “It’s endless.” 

 

A warmth radiated up his arm; a tendril of blue energy circled his wrist and ran back the way he’d come. Philip’s music grew stronger in his mind, and he centered himself around it. As the melody of their magic swelled, doors began to fade until only three remained. 

 

“Guess that answers .... Barney?” Clint spun but no one was there; he was alone. “Of course. Damn mystic or whatever Strange is. Man’s an arrogant ass, no matter what Nat thinks.” 

 

There was nought to do but open the nearest portal, an obsidian lined door of polished oak. The ring pulled easily, hinges well oiled and smooth as the door swung out. Feet firmly on the flagstone, Clint peered inside.  Shadows hid the walls, a blackness that gave the illusion of infinite space. Tables, haphazardly placed, were piled high with tools and inventions, papers and books, black square tablets scrawled with equations. In the middle of the mess, Anthony waved his hands, magical images of blue and gold and red moving before him; his hair was short, his beard trimmed, and his arms bare. Across the table, Bruce wore a white coat and wire rimmed spectacles, his hair a riot of dark curls. 

 

“This could be it, Bruce. This could be the key,” Anthony said, pointing to one of the forms. 

 

“I thought that was a fantasy,” Bruce replied.

 

“ Yesterday it was. If we can harness this power …” Antony jumped up from his stool and walked around the room, passing by Clint as if he didn’t exist. 

 

**“** That’s a mad-sized if, Tony.” Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  

 

The door swung shut and Clint jumped back to avoid it clipping his toes. The sound echoed and still no one else came. The only thing to do was open another one; Clint passed blank wall until he came to a flap of canvas, tied down with strings that opened with one tug. Pushing it back, he frozen as he saw the two men, heads huddled in conversation. It couldn’t be them, not as young as they appeared, the grey gone from Buck’s brown hair and Jacques still with his neatly trimmed beard. Their costumes were different than he remembered; Chisholm in chaps and boots, a beaded vest without a shirt; Duquesne in a flowing white shirt and tight black leather pants. 

 

“I’ve taught him all I can,” Buck was saying. “He’s got a gift that needs training. Much as I hate to admit it, you can bring that out.” 

 

“Kid’s a pain in the ass and you want to dump him on me?” Jacques glowered. “I don’t need a sidekick in my act, especially not Barton’s nosey little brother. Pawn him off on Brett or Marjorie; they can kick him into shape.” 

 

“He’d be useful, Duke. Got a talent for getting into places he’s not supposed to be and hitting marks that are virtually impossible.” As Buck spoke, emotion washed through Clint as the memories assailed him. The two men who’d taught him how to use a bow, who gave him the groundwork for  the archer he was to become, were the same two men who’d betrayed him the most. Buck, at least, had tried to keep the worst from him, but Jacques was a monster in a man suit, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything for his goals. 

 

“There’s something off about Clint.” Duquesne lowered his voice. “I’m telling you, best we could do is leave him in a shallow grave next time we move on. Mark my words, he’s more than trouble.” 

 

“You and your superstitions.” Buck never had been one for religion or belief; give him a sword or bow and he was happy with that. “He’s just a kid. Give him a chance.” 

 

“Fine. But you owe me, and I always collect.” 

 

Clint let the tent flap fall, blocking the scene before him. The past, the present … what was he seeing? And why did Strange think it was so important?

 

“I already know Duquesne was a shit,” he mumbled to himself as he walked to the next door. A light cedar, this one was carved with ornate filigree figures, wrought iron accents and heavy handles. Before he could open it, the door burst outward, rolling black smoke filling the hallway, making him cough. 

 

“Barton? Clint? What’s going on?” Philip sounded as if he was right next to Clint, anxiety bleeding through his clipped words. 

 

Waving away the smoke, Clint squinted, focusing on the figure that emerged, petite curves, short red curls, and angry green eyes. “Nat?” he asked. 

 

“Situation FUBAR,” she said, raising a hand and placing a finger on her ear. “I’ve lost visuals on Hawkeye. Repeat. Hawkeye is unaccounted for.” 

 

“I’m right here,” Clint insisted to no avail. 

 

“Backup isn’t coming. We are on our own.” Philip’s anger matched Natasha’s. She stood straight despite the blood flowing down her arm  and from her thigh. “Fury’s ordered us to stand down, but fuck that. I’m coming in.” 

 

“Negative.” Natasha glanced back. “Meet me by the door near the river in five. I’ll have the scene secured.”

 

Philip’s answer was obscured by the ground shaking and a loud explosion. The concussive wave threw Clint back into the hall; when he looked up, the door was shut, no evidence it had ever been open. 

 

“What the fuck?” Was that the future? Why was Natasha dressed so strangely? And where had Philip been that he wasn’t there but Clint could hear him? “This is useless. What does it mean?” 

 

Solid metal, smooth with no visible rivets or welds, the next door slid back into the wall with only a whoosh of wind. Grated walkways curved around a gaping hole in the floor; slumped across from the door, Philip sat with his legs spread in front of him, head hanging down, chest a mass of blood, white shirt a brilliant scarlet. 

 

“Phil!” Clint ran into the room, dropping on his knees. He took Philip’s hand and lifted his chin. The glaze of death haunted those familiar blue depths. “Talk to me, Phil.” 

 

“Clint?” Confusion, hope, regret. The emotions flickered too fast to follow. “You’re back? I thought you …” He coughed, a great wrenching sound that made fresh blood spurt from his lips. 

 

“I’m here.” He reached for his magic, determined to heal Philip even if it meant his own life. There was no living without him. 

 

“I should have … I never … too weak …” Each breath Philip dragged in rattled in his torn lungs. “Too late. When he took you … I knew.”

 

No music greeted his attempts, just an empty chasm that threatened to drag him down. Cursing, Clint tried again; Philip’s fingers grew limp. “Hold on.” 

 

“I love you,” Philip whispered. “Need to say it.” 

 

“I …” 

 

Footsteps made the metal vibrate; Fury came at a run, his black jacket flowing out behind him. “Phil!” He shouted. 

 

With a yank, Clint was pulled back, tumbling through the door as it slammed shut and disappeared. “Just a possibility,” he said to assure himself. “That all these are. Memories and possible futures.” 

 

An archway appeared at the end of the hall, blackness spilling out. Clint paused at the opening, hoping to see the study, but only one shaft of light lit the darkness, spilling from a hole in the ceiling onto a robed figure seated on an old wooden throne. As Clint paced around the room, avoiding piles of rubble, a knot settled into his gut, discordant notes jangling in his head. This was wrong. All of it.

 

“Do you know this house is at the center of the city? I like that. The geometry of belief,” the figure said. 

 

Even with his eyesight, Clint could make out none of the features beneath the heavy hood. “Who are you? And why can you see me?” 

 

“I can always see you. I know you mean well, but you don’t think things through. That’s why we’re right back here again. At the center.” 

 

“You’re the Sorcerer, the one who’s behind all of this.” Clint spread his arms wide; anger made him step closer. “What are you up to? What do you want?” 

 

“I’m so glad you asked because I wanted to take the time to explain my evil plan.” He chuckled, a deep rumble. “No, really, can’t you see the beauty of it? You rise only to fall. The inevitable.”

 

“Another person who only speaks in riddles?” Clint’s frustration boiled over. “What the hell are we doing here? Why me?” 

 

“A question I would love to know the answer to,” the Sorcerer replied. “Ever you vex me, all of you. This time I will crush you before you can mount further challenge, end this before it begins so I can finally reach my goal.”

 

The floor shook, rocks tumbling from the ancient walls. “To rule the world?” Clint ducked his head and stepped around a new mound of stones. 

 

“To rid this world of the pestilence of humankind,” he shot back, rising from the chair. “And I’m starting with you, Clint Barton, and that arrogant Stark and naive Rogers and faithful Coulson and wily Widow and all your band of miscreants” 

 

Clint caught glimpses of shiny silver and lines of red and black, elaborately scrolled armor beneath the robe, before the ceiling shattered with the next tremor, a rain of building debris driving him back to the archway. Looking up, he saw the early evening sky awash with soaring creatures -- feathered wings and talons with a catlike body -- each one with a rider who aimed crossbows with flaming arrows. 

 

“I shall bring down this city!” The Sorcerer cried, raising his gauntleted arms and metal covered fingers. 

 

The wall to Clint’s left fell and in the dust he saw men with what looked like torches, burning through metal bars and surging into a room filled with barrels. Men in Stark and Fury’s livery met them and steel clanged as they clashed. 

 

“I will never show mercy!” A blast of white from his palm and another rain of stones. The harbor appeared, filled with ships, cannonballs flying into wooden piers and port buildings. Longboats put in the water, ladened with fighters, swords drawn and bows at the ready. 

 

The curve of the archway protected Clint from the rattling jar of another explosion, but the place was coming down around him. “You’re insane!” He shouted at the figure who fairly glowed with power, threads of red lacing all around him. 

 

“Ask the one who created me,” the sorcerer said, eyes red beacons in the shadows of his hood. “‘Twas his purpose -- peace in our time -- that he gave me.”

 

The white expanded and Clint stumbled through the portal, throwing his arms up to protect his head and face from the coming blast. Arms circled him, drawing him close; Philip’s magic washed through him, his armor against any harm. Opening eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed, he saw the others looking at him with concern. 

 

“What happened? What did you see?” Strange demanded, leaning over Clint. 

 

“You could have warned me,” Clint’s said. A distant rumble rattled the teacups in their saucers; Kate shrank into Philip’s side,eyes wide. “The Sorcerer’s launching a three pronged attack on the city. We need to get word to the castle and to the docks.  The flotilla is coming from the sea, a contingent from under the castle, and another from the sky. He has griffins. Flying griffins, damn it.” 

 

The next one shook books in the shelves and nearly knocked over a small iron statue on the desk. 

 

“How do you know that?” Dean asked, coming to his feet. 

 

“I saw him, the Sorcerer. He bragged about getting rid of us all at once.” Clint followed his suit and turned to face Strange. “You neglected to mention he’d be there.” 

 

A loud pounding on the wall, steady punches against the stone. Cracks appeared; Strange traced designs in the air, holding his hands in front of him. “He is powerful if he can breach the Sanctum. I will do what I can to hold him off. Go, warn the others.” 

 

“I’ll lead you out.” Monk opened the door and ushered them out. “‘Tis easy to get lost.” 

 

As they rushed towards the exit, Clint spoke. “We need to get Kate to safety.” 

 

“Hey!” She protested. “I can fight.” 

 

“I’ll take her with me to the castle,” Philip said, ignoring her. “I can do more from the battlements, coordinate with Steven and Rhodes.” 

 

“I have contacts in the guard; they’ll listen to me,” Natasha said. “I’ll head to the docks.” 

 

“Ellen can help,” Dean offered. “People are already riled up by the Men of Letters attack. I’ll rally the hunter community and the thieves guild.” 

 

Natasha put her hand on Clint’s shoulder as he reached for the door. “Keep a low profile; everyone thinks Dean’s dead and you two are on the run. We can use that.” 

 

With a curt nod, Clint turned the knob. “First and foremost, we save lives. We’ll worry about that later.” 

* * *

 

“What was that?” Virginia demanded, grabbing one of the vases in the main entranceway as the walls rattled. “Is Lord Stark in his workshop again?” 

 

A second blast and the front doors, half-ajar already to allow for the comings and goings of the visitors, flew back on their hinges, heavy carved oak slamming against the stone walls. Black smoke rolled in and floated towards the top of the three floor high vaulted ceiling, collecting among the beams. Flames jumped up among the decorative bushes that graced the edge of the wide steps. 

 

“There are monsters in the sky!” One of the stable boys ran towards her, dashing through the courtyard and darting inside. “They’re shooting fire!” 

 

“Jarvis, can you get …” Virginia’s first thought was cut short by a large crossbow bolt that zinged through the open doorway and embedded itself into one of the Morris tapestries; fire licked the ancient thread, spreading rapidly through the scene of nymphs. People gasped, a few uttered short screams, as the hall and stairway began to fill with staff and curious guests.  She needed to take control of the situation before it degenerated any further. “You!” She pointed to two guards who’d come in from outside. “Close those doors and guard them. You,” she told the scullery maids who stopped their cleaning, “use your mop water to put that out then get some more from the kitchen. Form a chain if you have to. You,” she said to the stable boy, “run to the guard house and rouse them.” 

 

“Yes, milady,” he said, bobbing his head and darting back out the door before the guards could swing them shut. Everyone jumped to do her bidding, the moment of panic giving way to industrious work.

 

She saw Jonathan Storm on the steps. “Thane Storm.” She raised her voice to be heard. “Lord Stark is in his workshop, I believe, along with Thane Barnes. Please tell them what’s happening.” 

 

With a nod, Storm took the stairs two at at time, disappearing like he was on fire himself.  Surveying the room, Virginia felt a stir of heat, her hands tingling; letting the magic settle in, she felt Maria’s coolness on the nape of her neck and she knew what to do next. Eyes landing on Happy Hogan arriving, she drew him aside. 

 

“Captain Rogers was inspecting the wall behind the herb garden. I need you to find him and round up as many men as you can to check the storage rooms,” she told him. 

 

“You think they’ll try that way again? What am I saying, of course they will. We’ll stop ‘em,” he promised, striding off with purpose.

 

For a fleeting moment, she thought about hunting down Maria, but it was her job to protect the people in the castle, and there was much to do.  The King had to be notified -- she’d send messages to Lord Fury and Maria first -- then all the other Lords. The kitchen needed to start making meat pies and pasties, easy food to transport and eat. The cisterns should be drained into the holding tanks in case the fresh water ran foul. A long list of workers had to be accounted for, outbuildings locked down, food stuffs moved. She should have sent a reminder to Anthony to close the special metal shutters he made for his workshop; an aerial assault meant his inventions -- and all those chemicals and other ingredients that were highly flammable -- were a danger. Nabbing one of Lord Williams’s pages, she sent him off to the workshop to do just that. Turning left, Virginia caught another servant, a backstairs maid, and gave her directions to get the healers ready and set up in the music room for potential casualties. 

 

She’d let the others worry about the fighting; Virginia would do what she always did. Make sure that there was something left to come home to after the fighting was done. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, yes, I know. I've been dropping a lot of hints, haven't I? Why not, right? If you think, she wouldn't really go with it being him, would she? I invite you to read the first first line of the prologue of the very first one of these stories again. I will gladly go there. :)
> 
> If any of those scenes in the various rooms seem familiar, that's on purpose. ;D


	14. Go Ye Heroes, Go to Glory!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky's raining fire, ceilings are falling, and longboats are beaching. A mole is uncovered, Clint runs into an old friend, and Tony has an idea.

Clint dodged around a jeweler’s ladened cart; the streets were packed with people trying to get to safety, a jumble of humans, animals, and wagons going all different directions. Some were making for houses to hunker down and wait out the siege. Others headed for the churches and the inner bailey, hoping tall walls and gates would protect them. When shadows fell, people scattered out of weapon range. 

 

“Here.” Dean turned down a tiny passage between two buildings. “This way.” 

 

Sideways was his only option, his shoulders too wide. Clint dropped his quiver strap down his arm and kept up, passing into a small space and through an archway. A dark hall led down, the floor nothing but packed dirt littered with pebbles and rocks. A sharp left turn and then a steeper grade and then they were at a door with a sliding peephole. Dean rapped a rhythm with his knuckles, paused, then rapped again. 

 

“Hey Simsi!” Dean said when a woman peered out. “Still bad to the bone?” 

 

“Dean Winchester. Heard you died.” Opening the door, Simsi, a curvy short woman with golden skin, let them pass. “That bastard Rumlow killed you on the docks.”

 

“Aw, babe, you know I’d never kick off without paying you the money I owe you.” Dean passed over a small pouch. “We got trouble on the doorstep. I need to see her.” 

 

“It’ll be your funeral.” Simsi led them through an underground warren, curtains separating areas where people huddled or slept, and into a larger area that served as a dining hall and a tavern. “She’s still angry about you losing that knife.” 

 

Sitting a raised dais under the curved roof, a blonde woman held court, decked in white leather pants and vest. Her blue eyes lifted, passed over Dean and stopped on Clint. 

 

“Hey, Bobbi,” Clint said. “Long time no see.” 

 

~~++~~

 

A flaming bolt flew through the space Anthony had just been standing in; James cursed and pushed Anthony back behind the turret wall. “Damn it, Tony, don’t make yourself an easy target.” 

 

“They’ve got to be communicating somehow. Look how they turn in formation!” Anthony stuck his head up; James yanked him back down. “If we can figure out how they’re doing it, we can disrupt it.” 

 

“Probably magic,” James said, his hand twisted in Anthony’s vest. “Their strikes are too precise to be left to chance.” 

 

“Magic.” Anthony’s brain began to whirl; he’d had little time to digest all he’d seen through the bond, but pieces were floating to the surface, the numbers and equations he needed. “So we need to disrupt it, like the sigils and wards intended for Bruce. But on a larger scale.” He could see it now, the small device which emitted the right frequency of energy. “We’ll need to get someone on one of those griffins, though. They’ll have to be in the air for it to work.”

 

James’ eyes lit up. “Or better yet, we need aerial support that’s even bigger than theirs. And I know just how to make it happen. We need to find Steve.” 

 

As he ran for the stairs, Anthony hesitated, torn between the impulse to build and the need to protect the city under attack. “The guard need to …” 

 

Even as he spoke, Lord Fury came up the stairs, a phalanx of archers behind him, along with heavy crossbow men. “Stark,” he said, nodding to his fighters to take their places on the wall. “Don’t you have some gadget that will help bring these things down?” 

 

“Hey, you’re the one holding me up,” Anthony replied, not pausing to see Fury’s reaction. Relief washed through him now that Fury was here. “I’ll never catch up with Barnes now.” 

 

He needed to get to the stables, grab the box off the Men of Letters’ wagon and start refiguring it. An extra set of hands would be welcome; the pang of Dean’s loss knocked the breath out of him but he kept running. As he skidded into the servant corridor that led to the kitchens, he saw William, Clint’s page; nabbing him by the scruff of his neck, Anthony issued orders without slowing down about finding the box and where to meet them. Like a jackrabbit, the boy ran off as soon as his feet hit the ground. 

 

The stairs were narrow, leaving James in front as a shield from attack. By the third turn, they could hear the clang of swords; shouts floated up followed by crashing crates and what sounded like water. The open doorway showed a pitched battle in the aisles between the stored wines and foodstuffs. Anthony’s own red and gold livery accounted for most of the fighters, but Fury’s solid black and Clint’s purple mixed in. The enemy were impossible to identify; in their own black uniforms, they blended in with Fury’s men. And then there were Stark guards locked in battle with other Stark guards to make matters worse. 

 

In the middle of the fray, Steven and Rhodes pushed back a large contingent of enemy fighters,  Steven’s shield a beacon of their progress as he blocked and counterpunched with it. Rhodes was right beside him, pressing forward with each step, driving back the men trying to get to the stairs. From the broken gate, a line of bodies poured out, three and four deep, as far as Anthony could see down the tunnel. 

 

“They’re going to be overwhelmed,” Anthony said. Too many of the defenders were falling and not being replaced. He put his hand on James’ shoulder, drew on the bond, and surveyed the room through the haze of numbers. It took a few heartbeats, but he saw it, the structural weakness in the rough ceiling, just above where the tunnel emptied out.  “I’ve got an idea, but I need my armor.” 

 

Two fighters, one in red and one in black, charged Steven. As fast as Steven cut one down, James was faster, his dagger flying true and skewering the other.  A quick glance over his shoulder, and Steven grinned at them, his adrenaline rush shared through the bond. 

 

“Back up to the lab?” James asked, stepping onto the landing and taking care of the one fighter who’d escaped the net. “We can’t leave them for that long, Tony. They won’t last.” 

 

True. Anthony knew that, but he couldn’t … the blue glow of his magic burst from his chest, twisted in upon itself and met James and Steven’s threads, made stronger as they used their own skills. Holding out his hands, Anthony felt a stirring inside his gut; he concentrated, picturing the various pieces laid out on the table upstairs.  A dagger clattered on the rock wall near his head and James shouted at him to get back in the stairwell. 

 

“Anytime,” Anthony muttered to himself. 

 

Rhodes slipped on some blood, almost went down; Steven grabbed his arm and kept the man upright. But a blow slipped through, drawing a red line along Rhodes’ chin. 

 

“I am going to look like such an idiot if this doesn’t work.” Anthony screwed up his forehead, drained every bit of power he could find, and shouted, “NOW.”

 

A gauntlet zipped by and settled on his hand, followed by the other one. Arm bracers, leg guards, bucklers, breastplate … all attached themselves to Anthony’s body, lacing and buckling to a perfect fit. Last was the helmet, faceplate clanging into place with a metallic ring. The armor focused his magic, gave him the breathing room to tug on Steven and James’ too; the palm of his right hand began to heat up, a white hot light growing. Doing the calculations in his head, Anthony aimed and judged the amount of power he had. Just as he thought it wasn’t enough, Natasha’s magic wound into the mix and Anthony fired off a blast of pure energy, knocking loose a stone or two from his target point. 

 

For a second, he stared. That should have worked. He didn’t make simple math mistakes …

 

A rumble and the ceiling collapsed, rock and earth tumbling down and knocking out the iron gate. As the tunnel filled, enemy men were trapped, crying out in panic as they tried to get away but with nowhere to go. Some left in the room kept fighting, refusing to go down easily; still others put down their swords and raised their hands. Most those who were Stark guards chose to surrender; few Men of Letters did. 

 

“Impressive,” Steve said once the prisoners were tied up and dealt with. He was sweating, hair soaked and shirt clinging to his muscles. A shiver of lust hit Anthony and he suddenly understood why sex after battle was so common. “I did say you were important, didn’t I?” 

 

“When are you going to make me a suit like that?” Rhodes asked, wiping away the trickle of blood from his neck. “I could do some damage with one.” 

 

“Ask me nicely when this is over,” Anthony replied. “And speaking of over, we’ve got fucking griffin mounted fighters firing on the city. I think I can rewire the disruptor to knock out their communications but …”

 

“We need Izzy,” James interrupted. “Think she’ll answer if you call?” 

 

Steven flashed a smile that was just short of predatory. “Oh, she’ll come. She’s been itching to get back in the fight.”

 

~~++~~

 

“Please, just tell Lord Stark that Phil is here …” 

 

The guard cut Philip off. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re under attack. Go to the lower bailey with the others; someone there will help you.” 

 

“Wait!”  Philip tried to get the man’s attention, but he’d been dismissed. Because of his clothes, Philip had been dismissed out of hand. “Damn it.” 

 

“This way.” Kate tugged on his sleeve, demanding attention. “I know a way in.” 

 

One of the incendiary arrows hit the front steps; Philip grabbed Kate and held her tight, turning his back to the flying bits of stone. Pain flared below his shoulder; the girl wiggled out of his grasp, grabbed his hand and pulled. He followed her around the side of the castle, through an arch and into the stables, dodging the groomsman and horse boys who were busy keeping the animals calm. 

 

“Here.” She stopped before a wall of reins and tack gear; a click sounded when she pushed on one of the many pegs and a crack opened. “Leads to the back garden.”

 

It was a tight squeeze, but he made it into the passageway. “We need some light.”

 

“Nah,” Kate assured him. “It’s flat the whole way.  Just put your hands on the walls and go slow.” 

 

HIs eyes had no light to adjust with, so Philip had to trust his other senses. He knew some secret ways existed in every castle -- it wasn’t at all unusual to find passageways for assignations or midnight rendevous -- and one built inside a wall was often part of the defenses. This one, however, was filled with cobwebs, obviously rarely used. 

 

“My third stepmother was a Morgan; we came to attend parties all the time. Ones I wasn’t invited to.” Kate’s voice trembled, but grew stronger as she spoke. “So I explored.” 

 

He sneezed, the dust getting in his nose and throat, then they paused as a tremor shook bits of chalking from between the stones. The light that poured through the door when Kate opened it almost blinded Philip for a second; someone was shouting for water and ash covered the pathway. 

 

“You!” A voice called as they crossed the open space between the basil and dill. “Grab a bucket and get in line.”  When he didn’t respond, a hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around. “I said … Phil!” 

 

“Maria, thank the gods,” Philip said. “Ships, in the harbor, at least 30. The air attack you know, but they’re also …” 

 

“... coming through the tunnels?  Rhodes and Steven are on it.” She motioned to one of her guardsmen to take over and led them inside. “We’ve got sabotage all over the castle and in the town; there’s no telling how many enemies are hiding in plain sight. It’s chaos.”  She stopped as she realized Kate was following them. “Who’s this?”

 

Before Philip could answer, Kate spoke for herself. “Lady Katherine Bishop. And you’re Thane Maria Hill, Lord Fury’s heir. Now can we get going?”

 

“The Bishops are all …” she paused. 

 

“Not all of them,” Philip explained. “It’s a long story and we don’t have time right now. I need to get to one of the towers, a place I can see the whole city.” 

 

“I know just the place.” Maria’s stride was swift, her long legs eating up the hallway.

 

~~++~~

 

“Well, well.” Barbara Morse, ex- member of Clint’s mercenary band and current head of the Burosey Thieve’s Guild, ran her eyes over the two men standing before her. “A back-from-the-dead ex-lover and a on-the-run ex-lover. This could be entertaining.”

 

“Wait. You and Bobbi?” Clint asked Dean. 

 

“You and Bobbi?” Dean asked Clint. 

 

They looked at each other for moment then Clint shrugged. “Okay, two is enough. No more sharing, Winchester.” 

 

“Two that we know of,” Dean replied. “I won’t be held accountable for any in the past.” 

 

“Oh, gods, I have a type.” Barbara shook her head, her blonde braid slipping over her shoulder. “So tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of you disrupting my day. If you haven’t noticed, the city’s under attack. I’ve got places to go, things to steal.” 

 

“It’s worse than you know,” Clint told her. “There’s a fleet …”

 

“In the harbor with an invading force. Got word of that before sunrise.” Her lush mouth bowed up in that smirk Clint knew so well. “Anything else?” 

 

In a few words, she reminded Clint of why they’d been so good together and why they hadn’t. She was strong and sexy and all the things Clint wanted, but they’d butted heads from the very beginning. “Alexander Pierce has gone rogue.” 

 

“He’s working with Stane to get rid of Stark,” she countered. 

 

“The Red Knight’s running a protection racket,” he returned.

 

“A scheme with Tarleton and the new faction, HYDRA. They’ve taken eight holdings so far.” 

 

“Yeah, well, the Red Knight, Tarleton, and Loki are all working for an evil sorcerer who wants to destroy all of us.” 

 

Her eyebrows rose and she hesitated. “Sorcerer? Don’t tell me you believe those rumors. There’s no way those three would share much less follow orders of someone else.” 

 

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s true. All of it,” Clint said. 

 

“Darling, what are you smoking?” She laughed. “I’d sooner believe you’re giving up your beloved husband for me than magic is real.” 

 

“Um, boss?” Simsi interrupted the banter. “Meriem needs a moment.” 

 

“Meriem, tell me you have news,” Barbara said to a person behind them. 

 

Clint turned;  Emerald green eyes zeroed in on him as a long elegant hand pushed a stray curl, dark black with a hint of green at the ends. Her pupils dilated ever so slightly; she tried to hide it, plastered a fake smile on, but Clint never forgot a face especially one he’d sighted at the end of an arrow. 

 

HIs hand was on the hilt of his dagger before he consciously thought about what to do. Even as he spun and threw it, she had raised her hands, green energy trailing from her fingers as she formed a sphere. 

 

“What the …” Barbara started to ask before Dean slammed into her, taking her down to the floor. Clint kicked a table over and dodged behind it; the magic blasted into the wall, spraying chips and rocks across the room. “Meriem!”

 

“You shouldn’t have come back, Barton. Now you’re ours.” The full sleeves of her green blouse swung as she drew designed in the air. “Your death will give us the mage and then we’ll have the berserker and the bard. All of your circle of want-to-be heroes will fall.” 

 

“Failed once, didn’t you?” Clint moved just before the wooden table shattered to splinters. Huddled behind two crates, he made sure Barbara and Dean were undercover as well. “Run home and tell your master he’s going to lose. Like he always does.” 

 

“Once the city is ours, I’ll personally lead the force that destroys your little holding. Every building will burn, the men will watch their women and children die on the end of a spike.”  Another build up of power, and Clint had her number; she was anything but subtle as she launched another blast his way.

 

“Clint! Heads up!” He heard Barbara shout. No matter what had happened between them, and there was a lot of water under that bridge, Clint knew she was loyal to a fault and that he could trust her in a fight. Without hesitation, he grabbed the crossbow she’d lobbed at him, a small handheld; he sighted and pulled the trigger between heartbeats. His opponent had to dodge the bolt, letting her hands fall, and she drew her sword, prepared to charge his position. By then, Clint had the second quarrel ready and this time he struck her high in her right shoulder, making her arm go limp. 

 

The distraction lasted long enough for Clint to dash to another table closer to an exit. Crossbow spent, he peeked over the edge and saw Barbara with her bo-staffs, charging the woman, Dean right beside her with his knife in hand. The fight was brief and vicious; picking up a stool, Clint waited for the opportune moment and then brought it down over her head. 

 

“Well, damn.” Barbara sighed, collapsing her staffs and slipping them back in their sheaths. “Meriem was my right hand; if she’s gone over, she’s had lots of time to convert others.” 

 

“Mockingbird?” Simsi looked around the door frame. “Lance didn’t check in yet. Neither did Lincoln. I just assumed they were late, but …”

 

“Well, boys, look like you just got yourselves an unofficial membership to the Burosey thieves guild. You’re the only ones I can trust right now. Let’s go see what the hell is going on in this city,” Barbara said. 

 

“So pretty much situation normal, eh?” Clint asked.  “You are a trouble magnet, Bobbi.” 

 

“Yeah?” She returned. “Look who’s talking?  Don’t know which of you is worse, Winchester or Barton. But damn if I’m going to look a gift horse in the mouth; whatever reason you came here, I’m taking it as a omen. I was getting too complacent here anyway.”

 

She opened a small door into a weapons closet and grabbed a knapsack. “Take what you want. We’ll probably need all of it before we’re through.”

 

~~++~~

 

“Did you secure the Lord’s cupboard?” Virginia asked. The young maid, no more than sixteen, glanced at the smoky corridor behind her. 

 

“No, Milady.” She shook her head and jiggled on the balls of her feet. “Rhonda was supposed to do that. I double checked the herb storage and root cellar.” 

 

“Rhonda?  I thought I sent her to … nevermind, I’ll do it myself. Stay with Mori and Cadmon and go back to the kitchen. Jarvis will give you a new job.” Virginia sent the three servants on their way and turned on her heel; she couldn’t take anything for granted, not with the enemy within their own ranks. Her hands were full juggling the responsibilities of keeping the castle at the ready and dealing with the chaos popping up all around the keep. A fire was set on a landing in the servant stairway, furniture destroyed in the Blue Sitting Room, and expensive oils poured out on the floor. A groom's boy had been set upon by two guards; only lucky had Lord Xavier nearby to come to the young man’s rescue. She was glad she didn’t have to tell Bobby Drake’s mother any bad news. 

 

So she started a lock down, an old procedure that had not been used in over seventy-five years, and then only as an exercise.  Servants and guards went everywhere in groups, checked every room, and assured her when a castle section was safe. Then they blocked access, starting with the least necessary spaces; eventually everyone would be limited to a small section, easier to control and keep count on. 

 

Metal clanged on metal and Virginia paused, easing up to the next corridor and peeking around.  Six guards, three in Stark livery, were pressing Maria and Philip back, trying to corner them.  Swords flashed but Maria was hampered by the three who surrounded her, not giving her room to do more than parry.  Philip was just as trapped, turning frantically to protect a little girl behind him. 

 

Virginia wasn’t a fighter; she had never learned to use a sword or bow, used a knife only for the most mundane tasks. Her father had told her that she didn’t have the stomach for killing, and he was right. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t protect people she cared about; she just had to use the talents the gods gave her in unique ways.  The door on the opposite wall was the drying room where they brought herbs from the gardens; opening the lock with her key, she gathered up some ayahuasca and some chili flakes, mixed them with some ginger root. She packed the mix into bags, dropped them in her pockets, grabbed some pestles, and was back in the hall in a matter of seconds. 

 

Her older brother had taught her to throw rocks -- a well-placed hit of a small stone could turn the path of the yoked oxen -- and, as she weighed the pestle in her hands, she remembered his advice on flicking her wrist to make it fly with more power. She watched the fight, turned slightly to keep an eye on the other directions, and felt the moment Maria saw her; a tremor in her breast, happiness mixed with concern, then the strange double-vision settled over her sight. Which guard to target, when to throw, how to catch them unawares. Maria spun on one toe, dropping low and slashing at an opponent’s shins; with as much strength as she could muster, Virginia threw the polished marble. It caught a dark-haired woman in her forehead as she tried to avoid Maria’s attack; with a thud, she dropped to the ground, unconscious. 

 

*The bald one* Virginia didn’t exactly hear the words, but she instinctively knew what to do. Letting a second projectile fly, she didn’t hit him dead on, but clipped his temple. It was enough for Philip to take two steps forward and press his advantage to take the man down. An arrow sprouted in another guard’s thigh; the girl, free to move, was rapidly firing off one after another. 

 

When he turned towards her, Virginia recognized the guard -- Vincent Martinelli, one of the sergeants in charge of the gate, a family man with three kids.  “Please,” he said as he approached her. “Stay out of this. We only want what’s best for Burosey. Once Lord Stane takes over, all will be good again.” 

 

“He’s lying to you, Vince.” She risked a step closer. “Stane’s working with Alexander Pierce and the Men of Letters. He has only his own interests at heart.” 

 

“Lady Potts. I don’t want to hurt you.” He hesitated and she took her shot, whipping one of the bags of herbs into his face where it exploded into a fragrant and spicy flurry.  Gasping, he breathed in enough to start coughing; his eyes watered and turned red as he sagged against the wall, tears streaming down his face. 

 

“You’ll be okay in a few hours. Rinse your eyes with cold water. And go home to your wife and kids. Keep them safe. That’s the most important thing you can do,” she told him. 

 

“Remind me never to make you angry,” Maria said, sliding her arm around Virginia’s waist and giving her a fierce but brief hug. “That’s one nasty mixture you made.” 

 

“Go with what you know,” Virginia replied, smiling at the eyes of the little girl. “Hello there. I’m Pepper.”

 

“I know you, Lady Potts.” The girl dropped into a perfect curtsy. “I’ve been here before with my father, Lord Bishop.” A grin broke across her face. “I was the one who switched Lady Frost’s sugar for salt.” 

 

“Ah, Miss Katherine. I remember you now.” How could she forget the girl who turned the castle upside down by appearing in random rooms and scaring visitors.  “Perhaps we should …”

 

The whole building rocked; hot air rushed down the corridor followed by floating pieces of ash. Voices shouted and the floor jolted. Virginia clung to Maria to stay upright. 

 

“We have to get to the top of the Lord’s Tower, see if I can stop this,” Philip shouted over the din. 

 

“We’ve cleared the southern guest rooms and the rear servant quarters. You’ll have to go around and through the main hall,” Virginia said. “Does it have to be that specific tower? The observatory has the best unobstructed view, and I have the key.” 

 

“I don’t know where that is,” Philip admitted. 

 

“I do,” Katherine told him, grabbing his hand. “And I know a shortcut. Let’s go.” 

 

Virginia exchanged a look with Maria. “I’m needed here. My staff … my people … “

 

“Go on, Phil. I’m staying with Pepper,” Maria said. “Do your magic.” 

 

Watching them go, Virginia gave Maria’s hand a squeeze. “Are you sure?” 

 

“My job is to protect lives; let the heroes make the big gestures. You and I will save as many on the ground as we can. Besides, my place is beside you.” 

 

Warmth flooded her. “And I with you,” she promised.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing along and all the sudden realized that Bobbi would make a perfect thief. :))


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle goes on. Pierce's men have a hit list and our heroes are right at the top. Clint and Dean get some help from a friend, Virginia and Maria are in a jam, and a fight rages at the top of the castle towers. Exactly who is Steven waiting for? And will she arrive in time to save everyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finals time around my house, so writing has taken a back seat to grading and testing. Lots happening in RL. 
> 
> Plus, writing big battles like this is hard work! Whew! Hope it all makes sense. I tried to stay true to an MCU movie type of action, so a willing suspension of disbelief is needed.

“Hssst.” Dean grabbed Barbara’s arm before she could step out into the street. “Woman on the corner, brown dress, greying at the temples. She’s one of Pierce’s top operatives; she’s surveilling the area for … there, coming from the alley.” 

 

Six men in black uniforms burst into the market area, swords drawn; the few people still on the street scattered, leaving little-to-no resistance to the invading force.  The city guards were stretched too thin and far too many of them had sold out to PIerce or the HYDRA forces. For the average citizen, huddling in their basements, hoping the fighters bypassed them and stormed the castle was their best course. Even after such a long span of peace, a collective memory remained of war and famine and the pestilence that followed.  They didn’t care about politics or royal intrigue as long as the streets were clean and they had food on the table. Stane or Stark or Pierce, what did it matter if the Lord did his job and kept them safe.

 

“Damn it, how can they be everywhere?” Barbara groused.  “They had to already have forces here to get this far from the wharf so fast. I knew there was something going on, but …”

 

“Lots of people missed it, Bobbi,” Clint said. “The Men of Letters saw to that.” 

 

“We go to fall back protocol.  Lance will be at the safe house if …” the slight tremor in her voice was almost unnoticeable but Clint knew her too well, “... he’s alive. Lincoln will be with Daisy.” 

 

“Ellen’s is closer,” Dean suggested. “Two streets down towards the docks. She’ll have a weapons cache; she moved here from a small Southern border town. Woman believes in never going unarmed.” 

 

“She thinks you’re dead,” Clint reminded him. 

 

“She’ll get over it.” Dean shrugged. “She’s a realist. And she’s got ears everywhere.” 

 

Winding their way the short distance took almost half an hour as they detoured to avoid both the city guard and black suited fighters. Hoods pulled up, heads tucked low, they peeked around corners and slipped behind garbage until they got to a small wooden stairway that tettered on wobbly legs. Dean took the wooden steps two at a time; before he could knock, the door opened and Ellen put her fists on her hips. 

 

“There you are,” she said. “Get in here before someone sees you. Bring your friends.” 

 

The living area was small but cozy, chairs covered in a patchwork pattern of old fabrics, an afghan thrown over the back for cold nights. Book shelves lined one wall, leather bound volumes snug up against vellum and scrolls, a mish mash of colors and sizes in no seeming order. A small cook stove stood in the corner, cold in the late summer heat, and two doors equal distance apart on the wall; through one, Clint could see a footboard and a quilt. 

 

“Mockingbird.” Ellen gave a clipped nod to Barbara who returned the same. “Glad to see they haven’t caught you in their net. Too many have already gone down.” 

 

“Too many?” Barbara asked, glancing over her shoulder to watch Ellen lock and bolt the door. “What do you mean?” 

 

“Word is, the Octopus guys have a list of names; they’re systematically taking out everyone they think will stand against them. Guards turned on guards, the barracks are a mess and no one knows which uniforms to trust. They walked right into the Cathedral, left the High Priest and took four novitates. Bypassed most of the noble houses and burned down the office of those two solicitors down in the Cook’s Quarters; heard they had a heads up from a friend and went underground,” Ellen said. “Let me guess; they tried for you and failed.” 

 

“The streets are crawling with bad guys,” Dean answered. “Can’t get to the wharf across the bridge, and we could use some weapons. We were trying to keep a low profile.” 

 

“Gods above, you’ve never been good at keeping your head down. Getting it damn near chopped off is more like it.” Despite her words, Ellen gave Dean a fond smile. 

 

Clint shivered; his head came up as a blue circle with a cross inside flared on the wall next to the bookcase. “Someone’s coming.” 

 

Glancing out of the window, Ellen swore. “Of course.” She sighed. “I’ve been expecting them. Come on. No time to waste.” 

 

She grabbed a book from a random pile, picked up a piece of chalk, drew a design on the wall, and uttered a short string of words that Clint didn’t recognize. The sigil glowed; a click followed and part of the wall swung open, bookcase shifting with it. 

 

“Dean, take the lead,” she said as footsteps sounded on the stairs. 

 

A slim set of stairs descended, crammed between this house and the next building, a smuggler’s passage that led below street level . They descended as silently as possible; locks and simple wards would only hold for so long against the pounding on the door. Going by feel, Clint kept his hands on the ship and lathe walls, toe touching first before he put his weight on his foot. Behind him, Barbara paused when the board squeaked, but the loud footsteps above covered the sound. 

 

Light flickered then steadied; small glass globes glowed, illuminating the underground room; the walls were lined with shelves that held a wide assortment of boxes and casks,  each carefully labeled. One wall displayed an array of weapons, swords and daggers beside a mace and a pike.  Armor, mostly leather and mail, was folded and stored. Arrows and quarrels, iron bolts and a basket filled with glass stoppered globes. 

 

“Wow.” Clint stood by one of the work tables and stared at all the goodies packed away. “You’re prepared for an invasion which, all things considering, is a good thing.” 

 

“You should see the panic room,” Dean said, nodding to an iron bound door on one wall. “Better than Bobby’s but don’t tell him I said that.”

 

All the years that Clint’s eyes were closed to the magic around him -- hunters tracking monsters, a sorcerer building power, Strange walking his hallway between worlds. He understood the look on Barbara’s face as she struggled to understand everything that was happening. Reaching out a hand, Clint stroked the curve of a short bow and eyed the variety of arrowheads.

 

“Where’s the good stuff?” Dean asked, pocketing some throwing knives. “You still got the haul from the Trickster’s cave?  I think Clint here could make that puppy sing.” 

 

Dark eyebrows raised and Ellen looked Clint over again. “You know what happened to the last person who tried.” 

 

“Ellen Harvelle, I’d like to introduce you to the Archer.” Dean grinned. “We survive this, I’ll tell you all about my day with the Pirate King.” 

 

“You are full of shit,” Ellen told him, but she unlocked another door and ran her hand along the edge where blue runes glowed. “But he can try if he wants.”

 

Inside the small closet were five weapons, carefully nestled in black velvet, separated by wooden pegs. A set of bo staffs, quarter length, tipped in silver, made from burnished mahogany wood. A sword short with an emerald glinting in its pommel, an unknown script running along its length.  A strange weapon Clint didn’t recognize with a heavy hilt that sprouted a foot long blade, narrowing to a sharp point. The smallest of the group was a simple knife, worn hilt crossguard and plain blade; if it weren’t for the swirl of energy around it, Clint would have thought it a soldier issued side arm no different than others. 

 

But it was the bow in the middle that drew his attention; dark, not black, but a deep purple that reflected the magical lights, a perfect curve from one piece of wood. The bow sang to him of taut strings and weight of shafts, of sinking deep and flying true; it joined the swell of his music, a perfect harmony of words and instruments. Energy rose around him, pulsed in time to his heart beat, drew him forward until his fingers brushed the glossy texture. A rush of images ... black lacquer, tough ash, purple fletching, revolving quiver … poured through the contact points of his finger tips.  Giving it a firm shake, he watched it collapse, folding in on itself until it neatly fit into the small pouch laying on the shelf below; looping it over his belt, he felt another tug, four magical lines braided together, pulling him to the knife. White burned the brightest, then blue then two reds; he picked it up and slipped it into its sheath.  

 

“I think this belongs with Steven,” he said, turning to the others. 

 

“What the hell just happened?” Barbara demanded. As she gestured with her hands, tiny tendrils of grey slipped from her fingers and trailed to the bo staff.  “How did you make it do that? Why was it glowing? What the fuck is going on?”

 

“I got this,” Dean said, taking the bo staff and holding it out. As Barbara’s fingers closed around it, her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. “When we’re somewhere safe and have the time, we’ll explain it all. But right now, you’ll have to take us on faith.  It’s magic.”

 

“This is … I don’t … I can hear them … they’re whispering …” She stared at the slim weapon, twirled it once, then let out a deep breath. “Okay. But the answers better be worth it because this shit is real.” 

 

A loud crash came from above; boots crossed the floor above them, shaking dust down upon their heads. Ellen put a finger to her lips and took the last two weapons, handing Dean the odd shaped one and keeping the sword for herself. Motioning for them to follow, she opened another hidden door in the stone wall and ushered them through, taking one of the globe lights with her.  The floor of this passage sloped gently downward, and they walked in quiet until they could hear the sound of water sloshing against rocks. A sharp upward turn and they came out through the wall of a warehouse, the smell of saltwater heavy in the air. 

 

“We’re just down from Pier 47,” Ellen told them. “I’ve got a safe house not far from here; my daughter Jo should be there. You’re all welcome if you need a place to ride this out.” 

 

They exchanged looks, but Clint already knew his answer. “I’m going to find Natasha.  I’ll just follow the trail of dead bodies. I think our best defense is to go on the offensive. If they take the city, it will be a siege situation and no one wants that.” 

 

“I’d better stick with Barton. A very scary but sexy woman by the name of Carol will kick my ass if he doesn’t come back safe and sound, and Sam’s sleeping with Carol, so ... “ Dean shrugged.

 

“The guild’s not going down without a fight,” Barbara said. “I’ll start hitting the fallback locations and see who I can round up. We’ll harry these bastards from all sides. Think they know the tunnels under the city, do they? I’ll show them who owns those tunnels.” 

 

With a rueful smile and tip of her head, Ellen smiled. “Good luck then. We’ll do what we can. If you find anyone else who escaped the net, send them to SinJin’s Parish Church. It’s a designated sanctuary.”

 

And then she was gone, disappearing into the shadows between buildings.  

 

“Finding Nat will be a needle in a haystack,” Barbara said. 

 

“Nat’s not far.” Clint closed his eyes and let the music spin down the red line that was her magic. “She’s … watching … something’s happening that she’s concerned about.”

 

“For the gods sake, now you have some sort of mystical connection?” Barbara rolled her eyes 

 

“Pretty handy, eh?” Clint winked. “Although I do admit having to worry about everyone knowing when I have an orgasm is strange.” 

 

“Oh, no, I do not want to hear about that.” Barbara glanced out into the street; it appeared empty. “Fine, we’ll find Tasha then Lance and Lincoln.” 

* * *

 

Smoke clouded the vaulted ceiling, pooling in every corner; the fires were mostly out but embers still glowed in the tapestries and the second floor landing carpet.  Clearing the banquet hall was a major task; Maria had insisted Virginia take a cadre of guards who’d proved trustworthy to do her last sweep while Maria headed on to the music room. Despite multiple requests, visiting guard members spread throughout the castle, making it impossible to keep the halls empty. Virginia’s temper was at a slow boil, growing with each person she found wandering where they weren’t supposed to be. 

 

“Soak the rug and make sure it’s out,” she told the guard with the bucket.  “Last thing we need is the fire starting up again.” 

 

“Virginia, dear, you must let me help,” Emma Frost said, coming down the stairs.  “I’m sure you could use an extra set of hands, and I’m so very good at issuing orders.” 

 

“Lady Frost.” Virginia bit back a sigh. “You can help by remaining in your rooms, under the watch of your guards. Your safety is top priority.” 

 

“Of course it is.” The woman was wearing all white from head to toe and had not a single smudge or mark anywhere on the pristine clothes. Virginia’s fingers were black with ash, her dress dirty around the hem; she wiped her hands on her skirt as Lady Frost stopped in front of her. “I have no care who is Lord; Obediah or Anthony, it matters not. But this fighting is growing tiresome; best to use all means to end it.” 

 

“Well, we agree on ending this,” Virginia said, her attention snagged by movement at the door. “But we see differently about Lord Stark.”

 

“Always the lap dog, Pepper?  Even after he left you alone to deal with everything while he played with his new friends?” Emma cast a pitying look at Virginia. “Tony has his eyes on that quite delicious new bodyguard of his. Both of them. I’d have thought you’d understand by now what his type is.” 

 

A flare of heat in her chest battled with the cold certainty that settled over her.  “Thank you for the advice, Lady Frost. Now, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re under attack and I have work to do.” 

 

She started to step back, intending to put space between them, but Emma was faster, her hand snaking out to grab Virginia’s elbow with surprising strength. “I said something wrong, didn’t I? You should never play cards, my dear; your face gives everything away.” 

 

“You’re anything but subtle,” Virginia informed her, tugging her arm away to no success. “I’m too busy to be tactful; let me go.” 

 

“Oh, darling, you are not nearly as important as you think you are.”  As Emma spoke, a numbness crept up Virginia’s arm, her skin turning grey. “Tony has given you entirely too much leeway; that will end as soon as Obediah takes control. Now, order your men to open the front door or you’ll be a statue in the garden when I’m done with you.” 

 

She stared at the shiny facets of what was once her hand and was now solid stone.  Anger flared and she felt a matching coolness answer, Maria’s strength feeding the fire that burned up from her bones and through the hardness. Cracks appeared, spreading fast, breaking apart the stone and freeing her. Yanking away, Virginia pulled her arm back and, taking care to not tuck her thumb under her fingers, slammed her fist into Emma’s perfect nose. 

 

“Anthony Stark is the Lord here,” she told the reeling woman. “And I am the still Chatelaine.Guards, escort Lady Frost to her chambers and be careful she doesn’t touch any of you.” 

 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Maria said from behind her; she stepped closer and put her hand on the small of Virginia’s back, forming a united front. “Whatever you’re up to, Emma, it stops right now.”

 

Lady Frost laughed, a brittle sound. “I am going to enjoy bringing you down to size, Maria. There can only be one ice queen anyway.” 

 

The main doors burst open, slamming against the walls and shattering the hinges. Through the dust, Alexander Pierce strode in, his black coat swirling as he crossed the floor, his men fanning out around him. Stark guards surrounded Virginia and Maria, a protective circle, but there were three of Pierce’s for each one of theirs. Behind him, Obediah Stane had a cigar hanging from his mouth, ash falling on the stone floor as he walked. 

 

“Ah, Lady Potts. Just the woman I wanted to see. Please have tea sent to the King’s chambers; he and I important matters to discuss. And add a bottle of that excellent brandy Stark keeps for himself,” Pierce said, brushing past them and heading for the stairs. He wore simple black leather, a jerkin over a silk shirt of the highest quality. A black arm band circled his left bicep, the hydra image sewn in red thread. 

 

“What are you doing, Pierce?” Maria asked, her face flushed with anger. “How can you destroy the country you swore to protect?” 

 

“Maria, dear, I’m saving it. Can’t you see? Donaldson’s unable to make decisions, has let a foreigner influence his decisions. Lords are taking matters into their own hands, and the holdings are falling into chaos. Once I’m in charge, I’ll set everything to rights again.”  Pierce was so sincere, his handsome face filled with earnestness; Virginia shivered at the madness he was speaking. 

 

“By killing innocent people? Condoning coups and usurping rightful Lords?” Maria paced a step forward, and Pierce’s guards lowered their pikes, bracing the butt on the floor and creating a barrier of sharp points. “This is insanity.” 

 

“Fury has brainwashed you into believing his is the only way.” Pierce shook his head. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice a few to save the many. Philip and his husband are malcontents; they stir the pot and talk of freedom and individual will. That way lies the destruction of the Midlands.”

 

“Lord Pierce.” Virginia spoke, intervening before the boiling energy Maria was building between them could explode. “The people here … the guard, the servants, their families … they are only being loyal to their Lord, and that is admirable no matter who that Lord is.”

 

Pierce paused, looked around at the men and women in Stark red and gold livery. “A fair point. I do wish you’d taken Obediah’s offer and not chosen a side, Virginia. You’d be a great asset to provide consistency during the transition. Too bad you have to die. As to the others, the choice is theirs. Lay down their arms, step aside, and they can continue with their lives. Any who want to, can retreat to the music room unharmed.”

 

No one moved; Virginia could see the hesitation in their eyes. “It’s alright. Go. Take care of your families and each other.”

 

Only three people moved:  a maid, a page, and an assistant chef, all of whom had been putting out fires. 

 

“Milady,” the nearest guard said. “We’re at your service, and we ain’t going to leave you to die without a fight.” 

 

Tears gathered in the corner of Virginia’s eyes, but she didn’t let them spill over, instead drawing herself up to her full height. “Well then, the castle will not fall easily. We will hold against this … evil that has infested our hearth.” 

 

Pierce sighed. “So be it,” he said, nodding to his men. “Kill them all. After Lady Potts sends someone for my tea.” 

 

He headed up the stairs, offering an arm to Emma, never looking back.  

* * *

 

“Okay, we’re here. Now will someone tell me what we’re doing?” Anthony looked over the parapet at the city below.  Smoke rose from half-a-dozen sites, over twenty ships were anchored the harbor, canons firing with distant booms.  Above … no, at this height, the flying fighters were even with them … circled the griffins, taking off from the cliff and landing to resupply. 

 

They’d lost both Maria and Rhodey on the way to the top of the Lord’s Tower. Maria had taken off to the kitchen, determined to secure the North entrance; Fury had the main gate, so that left the South to Rhodes. He’d led his small group of loyal men that direction; at least he hoped they were loyal. At the moment, it was impossible to tell. But, for once, Anthony had a safety net, people he trusted to catch him if he fell. That fact made a world of difference. 

 

“Waiting for a ride,” Steven said. “She’s raring to go, has been for awhile now.  Can you feel it?” 

 

The wind ruffled along his scales, air bouyant beneath his wings. Joy … he felt the joy of flight, of being free, soaring over the patchwork green, sun glinting off the red ridges.  

 

“She’s fast.” Anthony yearned to join her, to jump and let go. “Amazing …”

 

A flash caught his eye; the roof of the observatory folded back, revealing a large telescope and a viewing platform.  Of all the people Anthony expected to see, Phil Coulson wasn’t on the top of the list. And yet, it made perfect sense, as if he’d known all along that Phil was in the castle. The little girl with him, bow as big as she was, was firing off arrows at a mounted rider who was diving towards them. 

 

“What the …” Anthony turned at the screech of another winged griffon; three more were closing in on Philip, drawn by the movement of the panels. “Shit. Phil’s just painted a target on himself … and he picked up a kid along the way. I’m going to have to remind him I’m the crazy one.”

 

“They’re diving,” Steven said, leaning on the parapet and scanning the skies. “Bucky, you got your …” 

 

“On your signal,” James cut him off, his crossbow steadied with his metal arm. 

 

“Tony? Can you do that thing with your …” Steve glanced over and saw Anthony’s arm extended, a faint glow of magic around his fingers. “Well, then.” 

 

One of the riders let lose a ball of fire in a perfect arc; Philip gestured and magic spread above them, a shimmering dome that took the energy from the missile and dispersed it with a splatter of sparks and glowing coals. With a screech, another griffin pulled up from its dive, feathers singed by the backwash. 

 

“Ha, you go, Phil!” Tony crowed. “Now let’s take care of those three.” 

 

“Wait for it. Let the others notice and head this way. We’ll keep all of them busy so the people on the ground can get to safety.”  Steven grinned. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

 

“You always did have a strange definition of fun,” James replied,smiling back. “Ready when you are, Cap.” 

 

More fireballs rained down on the observatory; each blazed against the barrier, fireworks that lit the sky. The concussive force rolled out like thunder, the griffons’ calls loud and piercing. Soon, the rest homed in on the action, flying towards the tower. More launched from the headland, some carrying long grey lances that were thick and heavy. 

 

“Damn it. That’s my invention! I swear, when I find Obie, I’m going to kick his ass. Aim for the ones with the flamethrowers first.” All those years of Stane looking down his nose at Anthony’s work, calling it a waste of time, and he’d been stealing the ideas. 

 

“Flame throwers?” James looked his way. “That would be cool if the bad guys didn’t have them.” 

 

“Pepper wanted a way to root out invasive weeds in the gardens.” Anthony shrugged and grinned back at James. “Wonder if Obie figured out the overheating problem? Want to find out? See that box on the end? Bet I can hit one before you can.” 

 

“You’re on.” James trained in on one of the riders, tracking his path across the sky. “Call it, Steve, so I can teach your boy a lesson about marksmanship.” 

 

“Raw power wins every time,” Anthony countered. “And you’re Steve’s boy too.”

 

“Damn straight I am,” James replied. 

 

“They’ll be on us after the first volley,” Steve interrupted. “My shield will protect us from their attacks.”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Anthony told him, tapping his breastplate. “This can handle a direct hit without slowing me down.” 

 

A spout of fire flew from the end of one of the long cylinders, burning through Philip’s magical dome. He and the girl darted out of the way as it licked along the sides of the telescope. Arrows flew, hitting the rider in his thigh and shoulder; he veered away, one arm hanging uselessly by his side. 

 

“Wish Barton had seen that.” Anthony braced himself for the first shot. “‘Cause that girl’s almost as good as he is.” 

 

“Fire!” Steven called, whipping his arm back and throwing his shield. It flew true, knocking one rider off his perch, ricocheting at a perfect angle to cut through the strap of another one’s saddle cinch then slam into a third’s helmet hard enough to watch him go end over end, tumbling to the ground. James’ crossbow fired four times in a row, a heartbeat between each as the quarrels fell into place to be shot; three hit metal with a satisfying thunk and the fourth caused another rider to fall.  Anthony got off three blasts, aiming each at one of James’ bolts, setting the fluid leaking out of the hole on fire. Smoke rose and, before Anthony could count to three, small explosions caused both rider and griffon to scream in pain. 

 

“Guess he didn’t,” Anthony said with satisfaction. 

 

“Incoming!” Steve lifted his shield, and James stepped behind it just as a flaming missile hit the silvery metal and splintered around it. Ducking his head, Antony dropped the faceplate on his helm; the heat dispersed along the magical lines he’d created, not even warming his skin. 

 

Then the fight truly began. Arrows and crossbow bolts hit their marks, blasts of magical energy seared through cloth and flesh, shield bounced from target to target.  For a while, it seemed as if two more riders appeared for everyone one they managed to ground, butthey kept fighting and firing.

 

“Damn it, they’re multiplying!” Anthony shouted as he dodged outstretched claws. “They can’t have this many of them.” An arrow slammed into the floor of the tower, right by Anthony’s foot. He jerked his head around and saw Philip waving his arms and pointing towards the headland. 

 

“He’s trying to tell us …” James’ sentence was cut short as he sidestepped a swipe by a wing only to back right into the claws of another griffin. Clamping on, it lifted him up and flung him over the edge. 

 

Anthony didn’t pause to think; he threw himself after James, Steve’s cry following him as he plummeted, arms extended. HIs magic kicked in and he picked up speed, catching up to James just feet above the bailey wall, hooking his hand around James’ ankle. Their combined weight dragged him down; beneath James’ feet, Nick Fury and four of his men were hard pressed, backs against a bastion. More of Pierce’s forces pounded up the stairs; Anthony knew a losing situation when he saw one. 

 

“Hold on,” he shouted and dipped lower. “Ever played skittles ?” 

 

“Rack ‘em up!” James called back. 

 

The men on the stairs scattered as Anthony flew over them, avoiding James’ daggers and the blasts from Anthony’s gauntlet. The ones on the wall jumped out of the way; Fury’s guards used the opportunity to gain ground and fight their way out of the corner they were trapped in. Last Anthony saw, Fury was slicing his way through the chaos they’d left behind.  

 

Zooming back up, Anthony weaved around the griffins, trying to get to the tower where Steven was fighting. Taking a hit from a wing, his grip slipped and James shouted at him; veering to the left, Anthony blew past another mount and made for the observatory, sweating each second as James’ boot began to come off. 

 

“Incoming!” He shouted in time for Philip to lower the magical shield; James tucked and rolled across the floor once they were safely inside, coming to a stop by the block and tackle system that operated the roof. Anthony landed next to Philip. 

 

“You were saying?” Anthony asked as if nothing had happened. 

 

“You’re crazy,” Philip answered. The strain was showing on his face, tiny beads of sweat trickling down as he drew on every resource to power the shield. “And they have someone who is reanimating the fighters. It’s the same ones over and over.” 

 

“Fuck. I thought that one guy looked familiar.” James dusted himself off and ran a hand through his hair; he’d lost the strand of leather he’d used to tie it back. “Got an extra bow, kid? I seemed to have dropped mine.” 

 

“Yeah, who’s the mini Barton, Phil? Clint have a kid he didn’t know about?” Anthony’s brain was only half on the conversation, the rest formulating a way out of this situation where they all survived. Their odds were dropping far too fast for his liking; he ran through the variables, calculating possible outcomes then hit on a course of action. “They’re based on the headlands, right? Good eyeline from there.” 

 

James immediately understood.  “You hit ‘em high, and I’ll take ‘em on the ground. Kid here can be cover fire.” 

 

“I’d have to drop the shield,” Philip argued. “We’ll be vulnerable.”

 

“Don’t worry, they’ll be focused on us.” Anthony reached for James’ collar. “Head’s up this time?” 

 

“Nah, I’ll get my own ride.” James winked and used Anthony’s hand for lift. “Phil?” 

 

As soon as the shield dropped, James vaulted up into the air, catching the leg of one of the riders who took the chance to dive. Wrapping his hand around the saddle strap, James yanked with his metal one, toppling the man and crawling up into the seat. “Meet you there!” he shouted. 

 

With a cocky nod to Philip, Anthony lifted up and aimed at the cliff face behind them. As soon as the riders realized where he was headed, they broke off their attack of the towers and zeroed in on him. Zigging and zagging, he avoid their missiles; he flipped onto his back and loosed some blasts at the ones closest to him before he righted himself and dived, too fast for them to keep up. He scanned the ground as he zoomed down, seeing the tent and the staging area, griffins in pens and people scattered about. Dropping even lower, he skimmed along, blasting indiscriminately, not even bothering to aim, his goal disruption. His pursuers didn’t dare shoot at him for fear of hitting their own troops; those on the ground didn’t have the same worry. Arrows flew his way, some hitting his armor and bouncing off; some slashed at him with swords, but he zipped up and out of their reach. He only became aware of James when he saw a tangle of men and glinting metal. The melee moved into the heart of the camp; Anthony swatted away groups that were running towards James, knocking them off their feet and sending them reeling. 

 

For a few heartbeats, he thought this was going to work; they’d find the leader and the one using magic, take them out, and all would be over. But then a wave of energy slammed into his breastplate, and he tumbled uncontrollably, ass over head, hitting the ground with enough force to make him see stars. His armor ceased to function, going rigid and trapping him inside. Hands grabbed and dragged him through the mud and grass; he banged his head on a tent pole, and would have broken bones in his hand when a griffon trampled on it if he hadn’t had his gauntlet on. Still, it hurt like the devil and the pain threatened to swamp his senses. 

 

Like a soothing hand, calm filtered in through the bond, Steven’s deep reserves driving back the agony.  Natasha’s taciturn acceptance mixed in, bouying Anthony up, making the hurt recede even further. From James came a refreshing chill that spread over Anthony’s inflamed senses. *I’m coming* James told him. *Almost here* Steven said. *You’re strong* Natasha promised.

 

“Well, well. If it isn’t Lord Stark himself.”  The stylized helm of the Red Knight bent into Anthony’s view. “Obediah will be disappointed that you’re not hold up in the castle as he thought. Finally grown some balls, I see.”

 

“You know, that color does nothing for you,” Anthony drawled, keeping the pain out of his voice. “But it is fitting, considering you’re just a red herring; how’s the Sorcerer doing these days? Still hiding in his cave and letting you do all the dirty work?” 

 

The man grimaced, his dark mustache crinkling under his bulbous nose. “Smartass little prick,” he said. “I’d kill you now, but Pierce needs some info from you first. Then I get to watch Stane filet you. Of course, as long as I keep you alive …”

 

The Red Knight kicked Anthony right where his breastplate ended, driving the metal edge into his stomach. Pain flashed and blood pooled in Anthony’s mouth. “Son of a bitch,” he cursed. 

 

As more pain followed, a shadow blotted out the late day sun; Anthony dimly heard screaming, James’ shouting his name, and then all went dark. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, for those who noticed, that is Lance Hunter, Daisy Johnson, and Lincoln from Agents of Shield. And sharp eyes might have caught the mention of two solicitors from Cook's Quarters. Solicitors is an old term for lawyers and Cook's Quarters ... Hell's Kitchen, get it? *winks* Maybe Jessica will show up so she can meet Luke back at Clint's hold ...


	16. You Shall Live in Song and Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria shows her skill, Virginia gets some unexpected help, Clint makes his way to the castle, and Anthony gets to say the line we've all been waiting for. Oh, and Dean discovers something very important about himself.

The woman was unconscious, her dark hair loose and hanging down the back of the man carrying her. Hands and feet bound, mouth gagged … the HYDRA soldiers had certainly taken every precaution as they they transported their target. The mess they’d left behind them spoke to their reasoning; two smashed windows, a demolished cart, a small fire, three unconscious men and one dead body were testament to the woman’s resistance.  Once they’d finally used a magical talisman to knock her out, the men had wasted no time hustling her to their base. And Clint and the others, having come in on the last moment of the fight, too late to make a difference, were following them straight back to the man or woman in charge. 

 

As the men slowed, Clint raised a hand and everyone stopped, staying out of sight just around the corner. Ahead, guards were stationed at the gated door of the Landmark Tavern, one of the oldest, and most centrally located in Burosey. Well-known for its lodgings and fine beer, the Landmark was situated on the edge between the more gentrified row homes and the fashionable flats of wealthy merchants and tradesmen.  It would make a perfect headquarters with its inner bailey and large stables, not to mention a common room that could seat almost a hundred patrons on nights they hosted musicians and bards. 

 

“Well-protected,” Barbara said, echoing aloud the direction of Clint’s thoughts. “Rooftop access, through, to the outer walls; been telling Eliot to cut that damn tree down. Makes it easy to get to the top floor windows.”

 

“They’ll kill her once they get what they want. We don’t have much time for planning.” Dean was right; more and more stories were flying about people taken or tortured on the spot.  

 

“What we need is to get our hands on that damn list,” Natasha replied. “We get ahead of them, warn everyone, turn it back on them. We’ll know where they’re going to be.” 

 

Absently, Clint nodded. He agreed with all those statements. The questions was just how to make it happen.  Looking up, he measured distances, vectors, and wind pattern.  If he could get just the right spot, they had a chance. The bakery next to the tavern had a dormer window that was perfect. 

 

“I’m going high. Nat, you slip in when the door opens. Dean, Bobbi, you’re the rear guard. Hit ‘em hard on my signal. I need a distraction.” 

 

Clint was already moving, grabbing a drainpipe and finding footholds. The melody was already playing in his head, a tension fueled movement with rapid notes, triplets falling down then scaling back up. As soon as he made the roofline, he ran, crouched low, using the natural shadows cast by the lowering sun to hide his progress. Extending his senses, he felt watchers on the ground, some stationed by stables, others by the gate, but no one with eyes up high. A mistake they were going to regret; wedging himself in an eave of the roof, Clint could see the the four men react as the group in the street knocked. A peephole was opened then shut and one of them retracted the bar. Shaking open the new bow, his bow, the melody changed, smoothed into quarter and eighth notes, strings joined by brass.  He dragged in a deep breath, opened his mind to the others and a winds, percussion, and guitar added their own parts.  Beneath it all, Philip’s steady beat, the rhythm of Clint’s heart, settled him. 

 

The door opened and Clint let the first volley fly; the two standing behind the door fell to the ground. Before the others noticed, two more arrows followed and they slumped, one body blocked the threshold, propping the door ajar. Turning his attention to the stable yard, Clint got off four more arrows before the alarm was raised. By then, the men in the street had been driven through the gate, Dean and Bobbi at their backs, Dean slashing knives and Bobbi a blur of silvery grey staffs. 

 

From roof to wall was a short jump; Clint landed and rolled up into a run that gave him the momentum to leap and catch a tree branch. Scrambling up the old oak, he got close enough to tumble onto the tavern’s sloped slate tiles. Under the top most peak, a small round ventilation window gave way easily and Clint was inside with only a scraped elbow and his bruised pride at almost being too big to get through.  He needed to cut back on Dax’s cooking and sleeping in with Philip. Or just set up an obstacle course to run. That was a better answer since his husband would always win out. 

 

Boots clattered on the floor under him; the small servant room was, thankfully, empty. Cracking the door, he glanced into the hall to find it virtually deserted. This was the supper hour; everyone should be hard at work serving the guards or, Clint hoped, they had escaped when the Tavern was taken. Tiptoeing to the top of the back staircase, he made hardly a sound, his passage covered by the noise and hullabaloo happening below.  Voices called out, asking for orders; more than one person replied with conflicting directions. Seems they were ill-prepared for a direct assault. 

 

Taking a moment, he checked the others’ progress. Natasha fought near the stables, fading in and out of their sight, stirring up fear and demoralizing her foes.  In the front, Bobbi and Dean were making inroads, but they’d soon be overwhelmed by the men preparing to charge. That left Clint with a narrow window of opportunity. 

 

Just then, a door on the hall cracked open and a set of scared eyes peered out. A young girl, no more than twelve, with an even younger boy hiding in her skirts froze as Clint’s gaze met hers. He raised a finger to his lips even as he smiled at them. Eyes widened when Clint whispered, “Where’s the General? The man in charge?” 

 

He wasn’t sure she’d answer then one trembling hand pointed downward and the other raised two fingers. 

 

“Two floors below you?” He asked. She nodded. “Close the door and don’t come out. Hide under the bed.” 

 

*On the second floor, back left corner, window facing the stables* He thought as loud as he could, hoping Natasha would get the message. Traversing the stairs, he made himself just another shadow on the wall; the secret to stealth was not to try to be quiet, but to be deliberate with every move. He might not have Nat’s skill, but he could slip past a few flustered guards, rushing to the common room, without being seen.  

 

A small sitting room with an adjoining bedroom served as the leader’s headquarters. Papers were scattered about the small table, a mug of ale half-finished by a map of the city. Clint found what he was looking for lying in the middle of it all, a scroll with a list of names and addresses. A quick glance confirmed it; Barbara was eighth from the top, Ellen just below her. 

 

“What’s the fallback point?” Natasha asked, peering over his shoulder as he rolled up the parchment. He jumped and she grinned; the game never got old for her. 

 

“Bobbi’s safe house.” It was close, only three streets over. “I’ll go make some noise so they can get away.” 

 

The ground trembled; the mug fell over and sloshed its contents all over the hand hooked rug. Then another hit and another rattled the walls. “What the …” 

 

Shouts then a flash of energy; every hair on Clint’s body stood straight out. As one, they both pivoted and ran for the door. Doors jolted on their hinges as they took the stairs to the common room, pausing at the landing.  Black uniforms littered the floor, broken tables and benches scattered about, and in the middle of it, the woman with black hair stood, her eyes flashing and her fists raised.  

 

“Come on, you bastards. I’ll bring this place down on top of you,” she challenged. Of the handful of HYDRA guards left standing, none stepped forward. “Fine. Get on your knees, hands behind your head. Anybody got some rope?” 

 

“Looks like we’ve got prisoners to interrogate.” Natasha was impressed; Clint could hear it in her voice. 

 

“And can somebody get me a drink?” the woman asked the barkeep who’d hidden behind the bar. “Whiskey. Hell, just bring me the bottle. I’m good for it.” 

 

“I like her,” Clint said. “Wonder if she wants to join up with an ex-merc and live in the boondocks?” 

 

“Let’s get this list to out there and then we’ll ask her,” Natasha replied. 

* * *

 

Pierce’s guards surrounded them; inside the circle of her own men, Virginia gripped Maria’s hand, squeezed it once then raised her voice to be heard in the furthest corners of the hall.  “We’re going to give you one chance to surrender,” she said, her voice supported by Maria’s touch. “No one has to die here today. You can lay down your arms and return to your homes and families.” 

 

The sound of clapping, slow beats that echoed against the walls, came from the man walking in through the front door. Virginia’s eyes widened and she stifled a gasp as she saw him; long scars ran from each temple, crossing just above his chin, puckered masses of skin, red and flushed, black thread holding his face together.  Two bandoliers crossed over his chest and his dark eyes were flush with hate. 

 

“Very nice, Lady Potts. False bravado.” He stopped and turned his gaze. “And Maria Hill too. What a lucky man I am to run across two such … plain women. Without those jumped up little mage want-to-bes, you’re so very vulnerable. Stark desert you finally?” 

 

Maria stiffened. “Brock? Is that you?”

 

“Thane Rumlow at your service, my Lady.” Brock pretended to bow. “Well, not your service; this is going to be my pleasure.” 

 

“I must say, Philip did you a favor. Now your outside matches your inside. Ugly and evil,” Maria said. As she spoke, Virginia felt heat building inside of her, and their clenched fingers alternated hot and cold. 

 

“Frigid bitch. You didn’t have the time of day for me and now you’re going to die at the end of my sword,” he spat out. 

 

“Could he be anymore a dick?” Maria asked Virginia. “Honey, my sword’s longer than yours, but I’m more interested in the sheath. Can we get to fighting now rather than masculine posturing?” 

 

“Let her out,” Brock ordered the guards. “Then kill the others.” 

 

If he expected Virginia to beg, Rumlow had another thing coming. “Go kick his ass, baby. We’ll hold here ‘til you get back.” 

 

“Gods, I love you.” Maria kissed Virginia, a quick press of lips, ice meeting fire and melting the last boundaries between them. A surge of confidence filled her; she tucked a hand in her pocket and closed it around one of the herb pouches. Even as Maria left her side, the presence didn’t leave, doubling her will and determination. 

 

“How sweet.” Brock scowled and his visage became even scarier. “Kiss her goodbye.” 

 

Maria stalked forward, hands empty, sword still sheathed. “Well?” she asked. “All talk?” 

 

“Fuck you.”  Brock drew his sword, gleaming silver with a hand and a half hilt wrapped in black leather. “I’ve no qualms at cutting down an unarmed woman.” 

 

Raw power was Brock’s style; he went with a vicious thrust aimed right at Maria’s chest, followed by a return swing at her head. She side stepped, a graceful duck and spin, long blade appearing in one hand, shorter one in the other. A tip caught his side, ripping into the leather, and he cursed. 

 

“Going to take more than that, bitch.” He was fast, sword slashing towards her waist, forcing her to jump back, out of range. Nimbly, Maria took two steps, put a foot on a chair and flipped over Brock’s head and left a gash across his bicep. The wound turned blue around the edges, red ice forming in the sword’s wake. 

 

“Shut up and fight,” she told him. “Pepper. Now.”

 

Swinging the pouch, Virginia let it fly over the heads of her guards; it slammed into the face of one of Pierce’s men. Spice flew, the man stumbled back and broke the line, making an opening. With Maria’s instincts, Virginia knew they had to shift the balance to have any hope of surviving.  Just like Maria knew fighting and tactics, she knew this castle backward and forwards. Twirling under a pike thrust, she dodged a sword, grabbed the edge of a partially burned tapestry and yanked, raining down cinders and ash. Another jerk and it ripped, heavy material covering her as she ran, skirting along the wall. 

 

Lord Terrence Stark’s armor was at the foot of the stairs, just beyond the edge of the tapestry. She hated the thing, it’s ugly marred surface and blood stained points, kept in the exact condition it had been in after the Great Cleansing of the Terran Age. A testament to the Stark family’s power and prestige, rumored to be haunted by Terrence’s ghost, the old leecher, it had been in that exact spot for three generations.  Now, as Virginia emerged to find a swordsman blocking her way, it made a perfect weapon as she kicked the loose shin guard that wouldn’t stay in place and pushed it down on top of the unsuspecting woman. It’s own weight brought it clattering down, and, once gone, it cleared her way to the first landing. 

 

Pausing at the top of the flight, she shouted up the hallway, not for help, but that the castle was on fire. Maybe someone would hear and come, but she didn’t wait to see. Bracing herself against a metal pot with a small potted tree, she waited until a target was directly in line below then pushed it over the edge.  As she peered over the railing, she saw an iron skillet emerge from the hallway below, smack another of Pierce’s guard in the head and then withdraw. She smiled, a fierce pride welling up in her at the resourcefulness of her staff. 

 

Then her gaze was drawn to Maria; a thin line of blood welled from a cut across her forearm and she was favoring her left leg as the circled, but as soon as she closed on Brock, she balanced her weight and struck, leaving a glittering trail of ice in her wake. But Rumlow parried and pushed her back, his bulk giving him a height and reach advantage.  

 

Two guards broke off their attacks and came up after her, their swords at the ready.  The only weapon she could find was a porcelain vase, very old and very valuable. Without hesitation, she hurled at the closest one’s head and turned to run. Pain lanced through her calf, her ankle gave way, skirts twisted around her legs, and she went down, shoulder and knee taking the brunt of the fall. Rolling towards the wall, she saw the sharp edge of the sword coming down on her, raised her arms, crossing them over her face, knowing it would only slow the inevitable. 

 

Fire exploded, a searing heat that washed over the guard, sending them tumbling down the stairs, sword glowing red hot. The second guard froze, weapon burning into his palm, the smell of crisping skin filling the air. 

 

“I don’t know how long I can hold him,” Charles Xavier said. He was standing on the stairs above her, hand splayed, shaking with effort. She scrambled out of the way; as soon as Xavier lowered his arm, the man screamed and dropped his smoking sword, his hand a mass of red melted flesh. 

 

Below, a woman cried out; the maid with the frying pan was being dragged by her hair. Her tormentor swung up and pressed her against the wall, his hands yanking at her skirts as she struggled. Pure rage exploded inside Virginia; the tapestry beside the trapped woman burst into flames. The guard jerked away, the woman got her arm free and slammed the pan into the side of his head. 

 

“Oh, fuck no.” Thane Storm appeared, vaulting over the railing and dropping into the fight below. “Hey, dirtbag. Get up and fight.” He put himself between the guard and the maid. “Nice hit, darling. Next time, aim for the family jewels. That’ll take him out permanently.” 

 

Now that her skin was mottled red, veins glowing, she turned attention back to Maria’s fight in time to see her run her sword into Brock’s thigh. He buckled, barely blocking the killing blow from Maria’s short sword; shoving her back with his remaining strength. 

 

“Fucking cunt,” he growled, face contorted with hate. “I’m going to split you in two.” 

 

Virginia didn’t think, just reacted. Twin balls of flame formed around her clenched fists and she let fly, the first knocking Rumlow back three paces and the second taking him down. With a fond smile aimed Virginia’s way, Maria hobbled towards the fallen man but he scrambled up, dragging his bloody leg, and ran for the door. Realizing their leader had fled, the others fought on with renewed determination, but, between Maria, Jon, and the others, they were done for. The tide had turned and, soon, all were captured or dead. 

 

First was taking care of the wounded; they’d lost two on their side, both people Virginia knew well but the bodies could wait on the living. Issuing orders to the servants who appeared at her call, she started with the worst, a sliced belly that would need stitches and bed rest. Moving briskly she catalogued each cut and other hurts, reeling off what to do for each. 

 

“Pierce has gone after the King,” Maria was telling Charles. “Stane’s with him as well as Emma. They’re both in on this.” 

 

“Of course she is,” Jon said, cleaning the blade of his sword on what looked like a bit of petticoat. “Thanks, love,” he told the maid as he tucked the bloody cloth in his pocket, giving a brilliant smile for the woman. “So let’s go up and bang the door down, get the son-of-a-bitch and drag him out into the courtyard.” 

 

“We’ve got to think about the King’s safety. If we go charging in, Pierce will use him as a hostage,” Charles warned. “And we don’t know … well, it’s a possibility the King is already aware of Pierce’s moves.” 

 

“He’s behind it, you mean?” Maria shook her head. “More likely, he’s been persuaded by Loki to go along with it.” 

 

“Either way, he might not want to be saved,” Charles said. 

 

As soon as Virginia was in range, Maria held out her hand; their palms slid together, a puff of steam rising as Maria’s ice met Virginia’s fire. “I need to see to your wounds,” Virginia told her. “Before you go haring off to confront Pierce.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Maria’s smile turned the heat from anger to passion in one glance. A sudden thought took control of Virginia’s brain, how easily it would be to press Maria into the wall and kiss her like she was oxygen and Virginia was drowning. Slip a hand into Maria’s pants and slide a finger through her moist heat, past the folds of skin to tease her clit until she cried out in release. “You can take care of me in a minute, once we have a plan.” 

 

She knew she was blushing; Charles’s lips turned up as he averted his eyes, but Jon only grinned wider. “So that’s how it is.” Storm chuckled. “Maybe you’ll need more than a minute, eh?”

 

Cheeky boys she could handle; sexual promises in public not so much. “Actually, there’s a passageway that leads into the King’s bedchamber; it comes out behind the armoire. But you can hear everything in the adjoining salon without entering the room. Lord Carlan Stark kept his mistress in that room; the other end is in Tony’s chambers.” 

 

“Well, what are we waiting for? Eavesdropping it is!” Storm clapped Charles on the back. “Let’s let these ladies have their moment while I get Sue. She can be virtually invisible when she wants to. She won’t make a sound.”

 

“Meet at the northmost stairs, just past the chapel,” Maria said. “In five.” 

 

“Ten,” Charles countered. “It will take that long to get Susan.” 

 

The moment they turned, Virginia tugged Maria into the next room; the best she could do for privacy was to turn the corner and use a buffet to hide behind. Then they were entwined; she wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but their lips pressed together, anxiety and tension wound into their desire to be close. Somehow, Virginia was the one with her back to the wall, Maria’s hand under her ruched up skirt, nimble fingers buried into Virginia’s core, stroking her to an orgasmic climax in what seemed like seconds. 

 

“I was going to …” Virginia panted against Maria’s skin, her voice thready and low. 

 

“I know but I …” Maria nipped at Virginia’s ear, groaning as Virginia pressed the heel of her hand against Maria’s mons, rubbing through the leather of her pants. 

 

“I need …” Virginia ran her thumb along the seam, dragging it across Maria’s clit, soft material and rough stitches doing the work for her. 

 

“Oh gods …” Maria’s head fell forward as she came, bucking into Virginia’s hold. Foreheads touching, they breathed each other in, the energy spiraling through them. “That was … fast.” 

 

“One day in bed. Just one whole day,” Virginia murmured, suddenly aware of the sounds around them, the bustle in the room just beyond them. “You, naked, in my bed. That’s what I want.” 

 

“Then who will run the households if we aren’t there?” Maria stepped back and helped Virginia set her skirts to rights. “Might be interesting to see what happens.” 

 

“Chaos.” Virginia fears shrank to a manageable size; she had Maria so all would be well. 

 

“Chaos,” Maria agreed.

* * *

 

“Damn fool stunt worked.” Philip slumped against a railing, his hands trembling as he dropped the spell. “They’re all following Stark.”  

 

He looked across the city; smoke rose from scattered fires. The streets were eerily empty, the normal bustle of the city gone to ground. Far below, the courtyard teemed with fighters; from here, they were just tiny colors clashing in an ebb and flow. 

 

“Lord Stark’s crazy.” Kate sat down with a sigh. “And that other guy? Wow. You have strange friends.” 

 

“I do indeed,” Philip agreed. “But we drew them away from town and that was the plan.” 

 

HIs mind instinctively reached out to Clint; a rush of adrenaline mixed with a hint of melody telling him Clint was doing what he did best. Strength flowed across the bond, replenishing his magic. 

 

“What now, PC?” Kate counted her arrows, rearranging them in her quiver. “More magic?”

 

“Just old fashioned stairs. We go find Maria and meet Clint; he’ll be on his way here soon.” He pushed up and glanced at the girl. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay somewhere safe, can I?” 

 

She only arched an eyebrow at him and he got the message. 

 

“Fine. Let’s go help …” His eye was drawn to a speck on the horizon; it grew in size, sharpening into focus the close it came.  Wings spread wide, long tail slicing through the air, ridged head bobbing with each stroke -- the dragon circled the headland, banking towards the sea, and made a beeline for the King’s Tower. 

 

“Is that …” Kate’s mouth dropped open, and she lost her words. Wonder filled her eyes, driving away the haunted sadness for a few beats. 

 

“It’s a giant red dragon,” Philip replied in his driest voice as if seeing the majestic beast was an everyday occurrence. 

 

Claws grabbed the parapet of the other tower, wings folding against her sides, and the dragon lowered her head, revealing a saddle and a rider.  The man on her back unhooked straps and slid off, coming to stand beside Steven, slapping the soldier on the back before he passed over the reins. Securing his shield to his back, Steven swung up and mounted in a smooth motion that spoke of years of practice, ran a hand along the scaly neck and patted the dragon. Then he launched them into the air, turning with ease towards the griffon riders and the headland where Anthony and James had gone. The flap of wings was audible, a snap then rush of air as they flew. 

 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Kate breathed out the word as she watched. 

 

Philip didn’t call her on her language; in fact, he seconded the sentiment.

* * *

 

Cold water splashed on Anthony’s face; he sputtered and sat up quickly, sharp pain shooting through his chest and midsection. Gritting his teeth, he barely kept from groaning out loud; he knew what broken ribs felt like and this was damn close. Spitting blood onto the ground, he glared up at the Red Knight. 

 

“Water? Really? Whiskey would be a better choice.” When all else failed, Anthony could always rely upon his mouth to make things worse. “Before we go any further, my safe word is blueberry.” 

 

“Call off your friend,” the Red Knight said, tipping the edge of his sword under Anthony’s exposed neck, “or I’ll cut that tongue out before I slit your throat.” 

 

“Obviously, you haven’t gotten the memo that I don’t have any friends.” Anthony reached out for energy, tying every line of magic he could into his armor. “I don’t play well with others.” 

 

The sword sliced his skin and blood trickled down. “Call. Him. Off.” 

 

“What’s the matter, Ginger? Your men can’t handle one little bodyguard?” Almost enough, he thought; he just needed a little bit more and then … he gasped as the put pressure on the blade, letting it sink in just the tiniest bit. “Fine. Gods, but you’re no fun. James! Oh, Jamie, boy. Come out, come out, wherever you are.” 

 

Nothing happened. Some of the Red Knight’s guards shifted uncomfortably, looking around the camp as if James was going to materialize right in front of them. 

 

“You have until the count of three or I kill Lord Stark,” the Red Knight announced. 

 

“Three? What if he’s out of ear range? I mean, really, I should at least get ten or twelve. I’m never on time anyway. Either late or too early.” Suddenly a well of magic opened, a flowing tap that let him take a deep breath. 

 

“One.” 

 

“Twelve.” 

 

“Two.” 

 

“Ten.” 

 

“Three …” 

 

Anthony’s armor, flush with power, exploded into action, lifting him up as he blasted the nearest guard.  Hovering above, he flipped the faceplate down. 

 

“Might as well give up,” he told the Red Knight. “Loki’s jumped ship. Pierce has his own agenda. Obediah, well, he’s just a pathetic old man. And the Sorcerer has left you dangling all on your own.” 

 

“Because you have magic?” the Red Knight sneered. 

 

“Not just magic. The Mage. The Archer. The Sleeper. The Spiders. The Soldier. You can’t win.” 

 

“We have an army.” 

 

Anthony felt the wind at his back, saw himself through multi-faceted eyes. “We have a dragon.” 

 

Two of the men screamed, two more dropped their weapons and ran.  Two of the ones who stood frozen at the sight were snatched up in claws and flung towards the trees. Downdrafts from the wings blew away tents; griffons scattered in fright as the dragon strafed the ground with gouts of flame. Tilting one wing down, the dragon circled, Steven reached out and Bucky took his hand, swinging up behind him just like he would on a horse. 

 

Flying up, Anthony came level with them. “Well, hello beautiful!”

 

The dragon tilted her head so one eye was level with Anthony; he didn’t flinch, just flipped over on his back, and let her look her fill. The inner eyelid blinked once then twice, she made a sound that was suspiciously close to a purr in her throat, and turned her attention back to the annoyance of a few arrows that were bouncing off her skin. 

 

“She likes you,” Steven called over the rush of the wind.

 

“Of course she does. She has good taste,” Anthony replied. As he banked to follow them, he winced; he could only numb the pain a little while using so much power to fly. 

 

“Get back to the castle,” James shouted. “You’re injured. Find Phil and get help.” 

 

He started to argue then remembered what the Red Knight had said; Obie was looking for it. It was about time he found Anthony. 

 

“Will do!” He gave the two a cocky little salute; James’ eyes narrowed at the instant agreement. “See you in the hot springs after.” 

 

Making a loop, Anthony reversed direction, taking advantage of the head start.  It wouldn’t last long; with the bond, it was impossible to hide his anticipation at confront his mentor and friend. It was time, Anthony thought, to put an end to Obediah’s scheme, and the way to do that was to claim the mantle of Lord of Burosey once and for all. 

* * *

 

“We just going to knock on the gate and announce we’re back?” Dean asked, peeking around the corner and looking at the closed and locked doors of the Castle. “There’s got to be a secret entrance somewhere.”

 

Bobbi and Jessica had taken the list of targets to make copies and get the word out. Clint had turned his attention towards the castle and finding Philip; they’d made their way through town until they were close enough to see the gate. 

 

“Or we could do this.” Clint notched an arrow, stepped out, shot, and stepped back. He was showing off a little, not looking at his target, winking at Dean instead. “And get Fury to let us in.” 

 

Natasha gave him one of her looks. “I could unlock it, you know.” 

 

“Yeah, but this is more fun,” Clint replied. 

 

“Always did like to make an entrance,” she said, a fond smile tugging at the edge of her lips. “It’s this way.” 

 

A part of the wall clicked open, just past the first guard tower. Hoods up, they crossed the open space quickly, ducking inside the arched passageway.  Ada, shutting and locking the door behind them, punched Clint in the shoulder then hugged Dean tight. 

 

“They said you were dead,” she told the hunter. “I told Kevin you were too savvy to go out that easily.” 

 

“Well, it did sting a bit,” Dean said. “But I got better.” 

 

“We’ve got the battlements, but there’s still roving bands of HYDRA to deal with.”  She lead them along the wall. “Pierce, Stane, and Rumlow got through and went inside a little while ago. We were hard pressed at the time then Stark and Barnes helped us out.” 

 

“Rumlow? It can’t be him; Phil took care of him.”  Clint glanced at the front steps. “Did Tony and James go inside?” 

 

“They went up.” Ada pointed at the towers far above; the griffin riders were circling then, as a group, they surged towards the headlands, following a fast moving blur. “Rogers and the others are keeping them busy so we can grab a breath.” 

 

Suddenly, the main door swung open and a man came stalking down the stairs, anger in his strident walk and literally smoking clothes. Behind him spilled HYDRA guards, charging the defenders at the gate.  The man's head turned, his dark eyes sweeping the area, landing on Clint.  A feral grin crawled across his lips. 

 

“Barton,” Brock Rumlow growled, stalking his way. “Came back for more, I see. I’m going to …”

 

Three arrows sprouted from his chest, one right after the other, hitting with the sickening sound of metal piercing flesh. Rumlow took two steps back, looking down in surprise, then broke the shafts, leaving the heads buried in his skin, and kept coming. 

 

“That wasn’t very sportsmanlike.” Rumlow spun his sword in an arc. “Sure you don’t want to switch sides?  There’s not a lot of rules I have to follow.” 

 

“Nah,” Clint said, lining up two more and holding his bow at the ready. “Basic black’s boring. I prefer color in my wardrobe.” 

 

Stepping around Clint, Dean paced forward, carefully staying out of Clint’s line of fire. “Hey, Brock. Nice new scars you’ve got there. It’s a real improvement.” 

 

“I killed you.” Rumlow stopped in his tracks, staring at Dean. “How are you alive?”

 

“Guy’s gotta have his secrets,” Dean said. “Maybe you’re not as good as you think.” 

 

“Fucking hell,” Rumlow spat out. “Why don’t you people just die already?”

 

He charged, bellowing like a bull as he lowered his head and ducked below Dean’s swords, slamming into Dean’s midsection, pushing him back. Dean countered with a flurry of strikes, dancing around Brock and making multiple hits. Face flushed and loud huffs of breaths, Rumlow swung, an overhead slice that Dean needed both hands to counter, all of Brock’s punishing strength behind it. 

 

One moment, Dean was holding the blow, leveraging his weight against the ground to stop the fall of the sword. Then Brock twisted and swords were flying across the courtyard, both his and Dean’s, and he lunged forward, hands grasping. Clint fired his arrows and reached for more. Natasha’s daggers flew and Ada was charging into the fray. 

 

“Now you get to taste my magic,” Brock said. Darkness gathered around his fingers, arcing between the tips and curling up his arms. Dean pivoted, trying to use the momentum to slip away, but Brock caught Dean’s elbow with one hand, pulled him off balance, and wound the other hand around Dean’s neck. 

 

The explosion of bright light knocked Clint on his butt, the shock wave powerful enough to cause everyone in range to stumble and fall. Rumlow was thrown onto the steps, his body covered in flames, face a mask of blackened skin and white bone.  Dean was flat on his back, groaning, smoke rising from what was left of his vest and shirt. 

 

“Dean!” Clint jumped up and ran to where the hunter lay. 

 

“Ouch. Shit, that hurt.” Dean slowly sat up; his sleeves had burned away and holes in his leather vest were still glowing with embers. “What happened?His touch was cold as hell and then …” He petered to a halt as he saw the bright red mark on his bicep; turning his head, he noticed a matching one on the other arm. “Oh, fuck me.” 

 

There was no mistaking the distinct outline of handprints as if someone had grabbed Dean from behind and held him tight. As they watched, the fingers faded first; the heel of the palm stayed the longest. In Clint’s head, he heard a lone trumpet playing, a magic he’d never sensed before, then it, too drifted away. 

 

“Looks to me like you’re spoken for,” Clint said, offering Dean a hand up. “Those are bonding marks; trust me, I know.  The bond protects you and makes you more resistant to magic.” 

 

“But I’m not bonded to anyone,” Dean protested. 

 

“Not that you know of,” Natasha replied. “Hey, if I can have three bondeds, then you can have an unknown one. Pretty sure there aren’t even any guidelines for this sort of thing.” 

 

“Um, Clint?” Ada’s head was tipped back, her eyes locked on the sky above. “I think the cavalry just arrived.” 

 

Overhead, perched on the King’s Tower, a red dragon hung, her scales glimmering in the lowering lights. Fighting stopped as everyone’s attention was drawn to the spectacle as she launched herself into the air, circled above them, wings spread wide, and flew towards the headlands. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Clint said. “I think the tide has turned.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's Andrew, one of the OCs from Clint's mercenary days riding the dragon. He's come a long way since he made a fool out of himself over Clint way back in story one. Don't ask me how the dragon got there so fast; eagle eyed readers will remember it took days to ride there by horse back. I'm playing loose and fast with distances. Steve will explain that he has a mental connection with her, thus the call for her to come help in the fight. 
> 
> Jessica Jones makes a guest appearance; only she could bring down a tavern full of HYDRA so quickly. 
> 
> I wrestle with writing Tony's dialogue. I try to make the others sound more "epic fantasy" but Tony wants to be sassy and glib, so I let him get away with it. 
> 
> For the non-Supernatural fans, the handprints on Dean's arms are a reference to the beginning of season 4 when Dean comes back from Hell. That's all I'll say for now; I'm saving that storyline for the next one. Dean's going to get his own POV for that one.


	17. We Bid You Yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony confronts Obediah, learns Dean's alive, and bonds with Kate. A plan is made and the end of the battle appears to be near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter; I ended up breaking it into two because there was just too much to cover. The show down with Pierce is next then some sexy times. :)) Hang on.

“Is everyone okay?” Clint asked, surveying the carnage in the main hall. “Wounded taken care of?” 

 

“Yes, m’lord.” A maid, her hair askew and her dress ripped, bobbed her head in a quick curtsey. “Lady Potts saw to the worst and left instructions for the rest.”

 

In one corner, able Stark guards had corralled their enemies; household staff were tending to them just as they were to their own. Someone had brought up manacles from the dungeon while others were picking up shattered porcelain, torn tapestries, and armor pieces. They’d passed Rumlow’s smoking body on their way inside, once Fury and the guard had the gate under their control.  The appearance of the dragon had sent everyone fleeing, clearing streets and driving the HYDRA fighters to ground. It was going to be hell to ferret them out once the castle was secure. 

 

“Where are Lady Potts and Thane Hill now?” Natasha asked. 

 

“The King’s chambers, I think…” She looked around and saw the majordomo Jarvis emerge from a passageway. “Oh, Jarvis will know.” 

 

“Lord Barton, how fortunate you’ve returned!” The tall thin man always was in perpetual movement, and now he was carrying a bucket with bandages and poultice pouches. Handing it off to the maid and shooing her to get to work, he continued speaking. “That dastardly Lord Pierce is with the King; Lady Potts, Thane Hill, Lord Xavier, and Thane Storm took the Mistress’s passage to try and hear what’s happening. Virginia ordered the guard to protect the entrance; I have to admit I am worried about her.  The hall outside the King’s chambers alone is filled with seventeen of Pierce’s men.”  

 

“Mistress’s passage?” Dean asked. 

 

Jarvis didn’t blink at the dead man wearing leather burned and ashes on his face. “It connects the from Lord Stark’s room to the one the King occupies,” he explained. “And may I say it’s wonderful to have you back, sir.” 

 

“Uh, thanks.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, shaking free a few cinders. “Makes sense. Old Man Stark was a randy …” he paused at Jarvis’s arched eyebrow … “had good taste in ladies.” 

 

“Indeed, the late Lord Stark was quite specific in his regard for women,” Jarvis concluded. “Perhaps I could ….”

 

“I think Lady Bishop knows where the entrance is.” Philip stepped up beside Clint and slipped and arm around his waist. “We’ll provide backup.”  

 

His husband had dark circles under his tired eyes; he’d been using too much energy distracting the griffin riders. Cracking open the bond just a little, Clint fed his own reserves through the connection, his hand settling on the small of Philip’s back. The lines at the corners of Philip’s mouth eased, his brow unfurrowing as he sighed.  Magical lines slowly appeared, binding together into a strong cord that wrapped around them.  Natasha’s red pulsing brightly, Dean’s brown shot through with bright white that was slowly fading away. Through the ceiling, Steven and James blue and white came from above.  Even the distant ones were there, fainter but evident: Darcy and Bruce’s, Carol and Sam’s, Jane and Thor’s, Jessica and Fandral’s.  Unexpected was the lilac thread of Katherine Bishop, as strong as Clint’s own; she had wiggled her way into his and Philip’s, overlaying the pattern and changing it into a tight braid. 

 

“Something’s wrong with Tony.” Natasha gazed up the stairway where the red/gold that was usually robust flickered and paled in places. “He’s … “

 

“Go,” Clint told her, “watch his back.”

 

“A dog with a bone,” she replied. “He doesn’t know when to stop.” 

 

She was up the stairs and gone before Clint settled for twining their fingers together since walking arm-in-arm was awkward. “Okay, Kate. Show us this lover’s shortcut.” 

 

“Don’t encourage her,” Philip said with a grin. “She’s already too much like you.” 

 

“That’s a good thing,” Clint replied, sneaking a quick kiss on his husband’s cheek. “Now let’s go see if the King wants to be saved.”

* * *

“Looking for me?”

 

Anthony stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles with a clank of armor. He swirled the wine in his crystal goblet, plastered a smirk on his face, and let Obediah stutter to a halt. 

 

“Of course, she lied.  Potts has always been yours from the beginning; seems unrequited love is enough to die for.” Stane’s face suffused with anger, his nose mottled red. “Well, the bitch is dead by now, so she got her wish. And you’ll follow her soon.” 

 

Worry spiked; Anthony forced himself to stay calm. He took a sip of wine, savored the flavor then bit his lip to keep from wincing as he twisted to set the cup down. His rib wasn’t broken -- he couldn’t have made the walk down from the tower where he landed if it was -- but it hurt like hell.  

 

“Actually, I was off having a nice chat with your new friend, the Red Knight. You’ve been a busy boy while I was gone … well, kidnapped is the exact word for it, but then, you knew that already, considering you were in on it.” 

 

“Someone has to keep the holding in good shape; we all know Donaldson’s weak and easily manipulated. The whole kingdom needs a firm hand.” Obediah dropped his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I didn’t work all these years for you to destroy it with your wastrel ways.”

 

“Gods, Obie, you haven’t had a new idea in twenty years. I knew exactly where you’d head in the castle, you’re so predictable.  And don’t pretend this is anything noble; I know the size of your ego and other … lacks thereof.” That he’d ever considered Obediah a father figure rankled Anthony.  “You’ve made your bed with Pierce, have sold your soul to the Sorcerer. You’ll go down with them.” 

 

Stirring up his power, Anthony held out his glowing palm, channeling the anger that rose in him. All those years of listening to this man, thinking he cared, that he had Anthony’s best interests at heart. What else had Obediah done? How had he undercut Anthony? Howard? Had he done the same to Anthony’s father that he planned for the son? 

 

“You think you’re the only one with magic?” Stane pressed his palm to his chest, covering an ornamental circle etched in his breastplate. Red lines of power flowed through the design; Stane flexed his muscles and began to grow, bulking up as a protective covering of scales layered over his skin. “Fire away, boy. I can take anything you throw at me. Then I’ll crush your skull and be done with it.”

 

Letting loose a blast, the energy dissipated upon contact, sliding harmlessly off. Anthony laughed. “Well, damn, Obie. What’s the power source?  Magical armor?  Or did Pierce do something to you? Spell? Potion? Inquiring minds want to know.” 

 

“Always have to take things apart,” Stane said. “It’s enough to end you.” 

 

“Ah, limited then.” He ran the problem through his brain, calculating odds and possibilities. “And the side effects? Magic always has a cost.” 

 

“Is that what Coulson is filling your head with?  Or is that clerk, Banner? You’ve fallen in with a bad crowd, Tony.  The Men of Letters have been studying this for years; what do upstarts like Barton know?” Red gathered around Stane’s hands, balls of light that darkened as he spoke. “Time to bring this to a close.” 

 

Before he could form a plan, Anthony reacted, throwing his gauntleted hands up toward the coming blow. Blue sparks flowed over his armor, curving outward as a shield, circles within circles that took the brunt of the blast. Chairs flew across Obediah’s study, books shaken from their shelves. Electricity singed the drapes as Philip’s magic channeled through Anthony’s armor. 

 

“No.” Stane reeled back a step. “You can’t … you tinker with metal. That’s what you do. Not ... “ he waved his hands, trailing red as his fingers moved. 

 

“Yeah, you know that bad crowd I hang with?” Anthony pushed himself up, tapped into Steven’s strength to stand and face his would-be executioner. “They taught me a new concept, one you ought to try. How to share.” 

 

He pulled his left arm back, extended his right, mimicking Clint’s shooting stance, and an arrow made of glittering red and gold appeared. With deadly accuracy, Anthony sent the magic winging into the gap between Obediah’s breastplate and his armpit, the force of it sending sparks that shorted out his magic as familiar colors crackled and ran along the scrollwork.  Obediah staggered and went down on one knee, shrinking back to normal size. 

 

“And one of them that you wanted to throw in a tower just happens to know how to make magic vibrate at a counter-frequency to negate Pierce’s little toys.” 

 

Anthony leaned over as Stane looked up. Pure hate filled the man’s eyes as he struggled to drag his sword free from its sheath; his hands didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

 

“That one was for me,” Anthony took great delight in telling him. “And the people of Burosey, the widows and orphans you’ve created today. But this one?” he curled his fingers into a fist and coursed magic into this gauntlet. “This one’s for Pepper.” 

 

The delicate bones in Stane’s cheek crunched under Anthony’s punch, blood spurting from the broken nose. It wasn’t enough to dim the image of Virginia lying dead on the floor; he hit him again and a third time as a dark joy settled in his chest. He could keep going, keep pummeling until Obediah was nothing but a stain like his name, a blot on the floor and the past. And he’d feel damn good about it after he was done, no recriminations, no guilt. The man deserved no less for even daring to speak ill of Virginia, for being so monumentally stupid that he almost gave away Burosey to the great evil. But Anthony paused, tried to take a deep breath even though his bruised or cracked rib wouldn’t let him.  Calm surety came to him, a conviction of the right path; the equation would change if he killed Obediah, become more complex. There was a simpler way. 

 

“Can’t finish what you started?” Obediah mumbled through broken teeth and a shattered jaw. “That’s so like you.” 

 

“The people deserve to hear your crimes, Obie. From your own mouth under questioning at a royal inquisition.  Like in old times, you’ll stand on the wall and tell everything.” Anthony stepped back. “And I’m going to sit and drink your fine whiskey as you rot in a dungeon, you son-of-a-bitch.” 

 

“The King will believe you?” Stane’s macabre grin gave Anthony the shivers. “You’re nothing but …”

 

“Aw, the hell with it.” He swung a haymaker into Stane’s temple, knocking him cold. “Shut up, Obie.” 

 

Slow clapping came from the doorway; Natasha leaned against the jamb, swinging a pair of manacles from one hand. 

 

“How long have you been there?” Anthony asked. He raised an eyebrow and let a smile curl at the edge of his lips. “And where were you hiding those?” 

 

“Tricks of the trade.” She crossed the space and knelt, locking Stane’s wrists into the restraints. “You wanted to kill him.” 

 

“Pepper …” Anthony choked up trying to get the words out. 

 

“Is fine. From what I hear, she used a tapestry, a suite of armor and a vase to take out Pierce’s men,” Natasha assured him. “Maria was by her side along with loyal guards and half the house staff.”

 

The tight band across his chest broke, tension draining away. He sat down on the edge of the carved wooden desk. “Of course she did,” he said with a chuckle. “You know, it was Steve perfect Rogers’ disappointed smile that stopped me. He’d pout for weeks if I’d killed Obie.” 

 

“You’re right about that?” she replied, her green eyes honing in on Anthony’s face. 

 

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Anthony meant to swagger his way over to her and play the role of conquering hero, but a twinge of sharp pain made him curse under his breath and stop. “Aw, fuck, no. I was going to pull it off.” 

 

“No you weren’t.” She closed the distance and ducked under his arm, draping it across her shoulders to take pressure off his ribs. “Probably bruised or you’d be passed out from the pain. Same person gave you that shiner and busted lip?” 

 

“The Red Knight. Don’t worry; last I saw, Steve and his dragon had him in their sights. Barnes was enjoying himself far too much, putting fear in HYDRA’s hearts.”  Outside in the hall, three of Clint’s guards formed a perimeter, watching for any approaching enemy.  “Hey, Kevin, will you box up Obediah in there?  We’re going to have to take him to go. You deliver to the dungeons, right?” 

 

“Yes, sir.” Kevin gave the barest of nods; gods above, but Anthony loved the informal way Clint and his band lived.  Now if only he could get Jarvis to call him Tony. “We’ll make sure he wakes up to solid iron bars.” 

 

“Good man. Give yourself a bonus for being loyal. That’s in short demand these days. Grab a bottle of whiskey from the cellar after this is all done. One for each of you.” Anthony waved in the general direction of the stairs. 

 

“Aye, that we will.” Kevin winked then motion for the others to join him. 

 

“That’s the Red Knight and Obediah. Who’s left? Any idea where Pierce is?” Anthony asked. The warmth of her hand bled through his shoulder and eased back the worst of the throbbing aches. 

 

“Rumlow’s pretty much coals on the front step,” she answered.  When Anthony looked askance, she said, “Long story for a later time. Pierce is with the King and he has Emma Frost with him. She in on it.” 

 

“Of course she is. The King dumped her for Loki; she’s never taken rejection well.” If he syphoned just a bit from her, a little more from Steven and a touch from James, he could walk with only a little pain. “Wait, where are we going? The King’s in the … oh, hey, it’s Pepper and Mini Barton! Why is everyone … oh, right, the Love Chute. Duh. Dad used to keep three of his …”

 

“Tony. You’re hurt.” Virginia put her arm around Anthony’s other side and guided him to a chair. “Sit, let me see how bad it is.” 

 

“Pep, seriously, you’re throwing off my groove.” He might complain but sitting down felt good; the water she gave him was even more welcome. “I’m Lord of this Castle and being mothered doesn’t look good to the kid.” 

 

“You look like hell,” Kate said, plopping down on the stool next to him. “Someone kick you in the face.”

 

“Ha, ha, ha,” Anthony shot back. “You’re a riot kid. Now get out of my face and let me whine about my pain.”  She rolled her eyes; when she leaned her head against Anthony’s leg, he ruffled her already messy hair. 

 

“Gods above, Stark, you look like someone used you for a punching bag.” Jon Storm stepped out from behind the wardrobe. “You should put a raw steak on your face to help with the swelling.”

 

“Thanks. I’ll rush right down to the kitchen and get one.” Anthony finished off his water and eyed the decanter of whiskey on the side table. With a loud sigh, Kate rolled up to her feet, grabbed the half-full crystal, sat it down by Anthony’s glass, then plopped down on her stool. “You’re growing on me, kid. Keep it up.” 

 

“What’s going on in there, Storm?” Natasha asked, ignoring Anthony as he poured a finger into his glass, closing his eyes as the first wash burned down his throat. 

 

“They’re having another drink and talking about some guy they both knew back in University named Masters.” Jon shook his head. “It’s like tea time in there. Not a mention of the battle outside the window or in the hallways. I don’t think the King even knows what’s going on.” 

 

“I bet Frosty’s turning on the coy.” Anthony was all too familiar with Emma’s brand of seduction. Subtlety wasn’t a tool she often used. “She used the ‘is it warm in here?’ yet?”

 

“Oh, we’re way past that,” Jon said with a knowing chuckle. “She had to borrow a robe after spilling some wine on her surcoat. She’s pulling out all the stops.” 

 

“How can he not know?” Virginia asked. “That’s … impossible.” 

 

“Not if he doesn’t want to know,” Natasha answered. 

 

“Or if he already knew,” Maria said, emerging from the passage.  “We have to face the facts here. The King is part of the conspiracy.” 

 

“Don’t underestimate the King’s cluelessness.” Clint was just behind her. “And we don’t know what Loki’s been whispering in his ear. Wow, Tony, that’s going to be a serious shiner.” 

 

He rolled his eyes at Clint, not deigning to give him even a snarky answer. Then he promptly forgot how much his ribs hurt when Dean Winchester exited the passageway. He jumped up, crossed the room and tossed his arms around the hunter, intent on giving him a hug; hissing at the compressive pressure, he pulled back and punched Dean in the arm instead. “Fuck you, Winchester. Letting us think you were dead. there’s already so few people who can put up with me.” 

 

“Most people would do anything to get access to your toys, Tony,” Dean replied. He eyed Anthony’s battered face, wrapped an arm around him and helped him back to his chair.  Pouring another finger of whiskey, Dean held out the glass. “Drink this before you fall over, idiot.” 

 

“Ah, there’s the reason why I like you.” Anthony toasted Dean and took a drink. “Smartass to the core. Like the munchkin over here.” 

 

Natasha moved behind Anthony and put her hand on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing along his neck. Her calm mixed with the whiskey’s heady taste, and he relaxed into the tiny circular motion. 

 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Maria said, keeping them on topic. “Why is Pierce just talking to the King while the battle is on?” 

 

“You think like a warrior,” Natasha replied. “Pierce is a politician at heart; you don’t rise to his position without knowing how to play the game. If his men prevail, then we’ll be the villains of the piece. If we win, go blasting in there, then he kills Donaldson and still blames us. He’s got a third and fourth back up plan, trust me.” 

 

“And at least two exit strategies. The man’s a planner, that’s for sure,” Dean agreed. “Anything that looks like an attack and he’ll set them in motion.” 

 

Anthony had to grudgingly give Pierce credit; how easy it would be to twist everything thing that had happened into a completely different narrative.  Obediah’s version of what happened in the cellar, Clint and Philip’s fight on the docks seen as an escape, every move they’d made as an attempt to bring down the kingdom. After Loki’s poisoned words, how hard would it be for Donaldson to believe that Fury, the man he already hated, had engineered the whole thing? 

 

“Unless it’s a neutral party that asks for an audience,” Virginia added. Everyone looked her way and she shrank from the weight of their stares. Maria’s hand on her arm strengthened her and she continued. “A variable he didn’t account for. When you plan something on this scale, there’s always the unexpected to deal with.”

 

“Someone non-threatening but with a reason to be there?” Philip pondered the question. “It could work, but then what? Of the options, Charles is probably the least connected…” Jon Storm started to protest but Philip kept speaking “... and is a scholar, not a warrior, but what could he do?”

 

“We send someone in with him who can take out Pierce and Frost,” Maria answered. “I’ll do it.” 

 

“You won’t get past the men in the hall,” Anthony said. Seeing Virginia’s mouth open, he kept going, “And neither will you, Pep. You testified in front of the King on Bruce and Darcy’s behalf so you’re on our side. Charles spoke up too, so he’d be suspect. I’ll go; he expects Obie to kill me. I’ll have an element of surprise.” 

 

“No offense, Tony, but with your bruised ribs, you can’t handle them both. Plus, there’ll be guards,” Clint said. 

 

“I can …”

 

“No.” Natasha’s voice was soft but commanding. 

 

Her fingers stopped moving and the unanimity of three decisions weighted her hand. He wanted to argue, but the bond flared and the numbers fell into a pattern, simple and precise. The ease of A 2 plus B 2 = C 2 .  Raising his hand, he squeezed hers as he spoke. 

 

“The kid. What’s her name …” He arched an eyebrow at the girl who stuck out her tongue at him and smirked. 

 

“Lady Katherine Eleanor Bishop, daughter of Lord Derek Farrington Bishop and Lady Eleanor Susan Rothschilde, direct descendant of first Lord of the Mark and Keeper of the Word, Lord Monteague Rothschilde, and the Lady of the Golden Garter, Susan Trinia Marigold Bishop. Survivor of the massacre of Bishop and second in line for the throne of Hampton Beach.” She drew herself up, her shoulders pulled by an invisible string, her nobility settling about her like a cloak.  “Come to ask for aid in my time of need from the King to whom my father plighted his trouthe and who gifted him with the royal blessing of thaneship.” 

 

“Damn,” Clint said. “You’re good at that.” 

 

Kate slumped back over and grinned. “My third stepmother believed it’s all in the carriage. Shoulders back, stomach sucked in, and think ‘murder’ as you speak.” 

 

“We can’t send her in,” Storm interrupted. “She’s a kid.” 

 

“She won’t be alone,” Natasha said. “I’m going with her.” 

 

“They’re going to let the Black Widow walk in the room?” Maria scoffed. “We may as well send an army.” 

 

“They won’t even know I’m there,” Natasha promised. 

 

“Trust me, that’s true,” Philip reassured his sister. “Nat can be practically invisible when she wants to be.” 

 

“Wait. She’s the Black Widow?” Jon’s eyes widened. “How did I not know … and if she’s … then …” he turned his incredulous stare at Clint, “... you’re the Archer?”

 

“For the record, I don’t like this plan.” Maria shook her head.  “The secret passageway is single-file and we’ll have to fight our way through the guards in the hall.  Whoever goes in will be on their own for quite a bit of time.” 

 

“You could always use the other passageway,” Kate suggested. “It’s much wider and better kept up.”

 

“Other passageway?” Anthony looked at Virginia who was just as confused as he was. 

 

“The one from the Lady’s Chamber next door,” the girl replied. 

 

“Oh, holy hell. Great grandma was getting some on the side too?” Anthony took a gulp of whiskey. “My family is really screwed up.” 

 

“Hey, at least you don’t know if they were sharing or not,” Dean said. 

 

Anthony closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards. “Fuck.”  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. We Charge You Yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes confront Alexander Pierce and find out what's going on with the King. Then they have to deal with the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter in this installment of the story. The Battle of Burosey may be over, but the war has just begin.

“My dear Katherine! What are you doing here all by yourself?” 

 

The King’s voice was jovial and full of good cheer; Clint rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on his bow. Through the slit in the hidden doorway, he could see the edge of Emma’s shoulder and Pierce’s left leg.  At eye level, the slit wasn’t the most ideal for an arrow hole, but Clint could make it work. Enough space was left between the tops of the books and the next shelf in the cabinet for a decent shot. Beside him, Philip watched the proceedings through another peephole; the gathering energy swirled around them, Philip’s hand resting lightly on Clint’s shoulder, the sparks stirring the simple melody that was playing in Clint’s head. 

 

“Your Majesty.” Kate curtsied, her hands held out as if she were wearing a skirt instead of slim pants. “I have come to beg for your aid and protection; I am the only one left, Sire. My father, all of our men, they’re dead. Murdered by an army wearing an octopus badge under the control of the Red Knight.”

 

Her voice trembled at just the right moments; Clint imagined tears gathering in the corner of her eyes for effect. Quite a little actress she was turning out to be. 

 

“Oh, darling!” Emma leaned forward into Clint’s line-of-sight, the grey silk of the King’s robe slipped down to show her collar bone. “How horrible! Bless your heart!”

 

“Didn’t Lady Richards mention something about the Bishops?” the King asked. “At the inquest?” 

 

“Indeed she did,” Pierce replied. His smooth voice, so confident and assured, made Clint’s chest clinch. Too close to Kate, within arm’s reach; if he wanted to, Pierce could have his hand around her neck in two heartbeats. “Lord Richards and Thane Grimm went to handle it.” 

 

Philip’s fingers squeezed and Clint let out a silent breath as Kate retorted, “Well, they weren’t there when my stepmother begged for her life before they slit her throat.” 

 

“A tragedy.” Playing up her sympathy, Frost put a hand on Kate’s arm, a supposed comfort that would have worked better if she hadn’t been looking towards the King. “Let’s get you cleaned up; you must be tired and need sleep.” 

 

“What I need is justice for my family and to see our holding back in Bishop hands.” Kate held her ground, crossing her arms to avoid Emma’s touch. “I didn’t steal aboard a ship and come all the way here just to sleep in a feather bed. The King promised to honor my father’s oath of fealty; I demand retribution against the parties who launched the unprovoked attack.” 

 

“Of course, I will honor that bond, Kate,” the King said, a tinge of anger in his voice. She’d questioned his resolve, and he didn’t brook being reminded of his duty. “You’ve brought the concern to my attention and I will act. Leave it to the grown ups; you go with Emma, and we’ll find out who’s responsible.” 

 

Emma rose, a flash of long leg revealed as she moved across Clint’s line of sight; catching Kate’s elbow, she pulled her towards the door. “Come along, Katherine. We’ll see what we can find in the kitchen.” 

 

Yanking free, Kate stepped right in front of the book case, in perfect view. She planted her hands on her hips, and glared at Lady Frost. “I. Am. Not. Hungry.” She punctuated each word with a dramatic pause. “And I know exactly who is responsible for my peoples’ murder. I saw him.” 

 

Music swelled in Clint’s head; the introduction was coming to a close as the main melody grew stronger. Pierce’s knee slid back as he sat up straighter in his chair. Emma’s nose scrunched up, displeasure writ large across her face. And passing behind them, Clint saw the shimmer of Natasha taking her place before the truth fell. 

 

“My dear, really,” the King replied. “I’m sure you have important information but my inquisitors are objective and trained in getting to the truth. They will be talking to you eventually.” 

 

“Why don’t I handle this?” Pierce rose, and Clint saw his face, eyes sparking with frustration before settling into a bland look. “I’ll take her statement and get things started.” 

 

“I’m not going anywhere with the man who gave the order to have my father killed.”  The little minx rounded on Pierce, carefully taking herself out of the line of fire from the secret passages and standing between the Head Master of Letters and the King as she declared his guilt.  “Don’t you dare deny it. I was there. The Red Knight led the attack, but you were the one calling the shots. ‘Let them burn,’ you said when your man Rumlow told you there were servants trapped in the castle.” 

 

Tears spilled over her cheeks and Kate dashed her hand across her eyes to stop them. Her music faltered, cello string out of tune that slid back into harmony and began to set a march rhythm for them all to follow. . 

 

“Oh, honey.” Emma eased down on her knees, a picture of beauty in a pool of silk and flowing blonde hair. “How traumatic it must have been for you!  Did you hide to avoid them? In some small corner or cabinet? Seeing all that through your tears and closed eyes.” 

 

It was a good strategy; cast doubt about Kate’s story in order to discount it. The King would take one look at the half-revealed breasts and why would he believe a child over two of his most loyal advisors? Holding his breath, Clint waited for the King’s reaction.

 

“I find myself quite bored with this little charade. Take care of the girl, Frost; we have much to do,” King Donaldson said.

 

Clint moved even as Emma did but Kate was the fastest; she spun and darted to her left, grabbing the hilt of Pierce’s sword as he rose from his chair and yanking it out of the scabbard. Pushing through the secret door, Clint caught two of the King’s guards before they could do more than draw their weapons then he dodged out of the way so Philip’s glowing swords could have a clear radius. Maria came through the other wall and right into Pierce’s path as he made a grab for Kate. Behind her, Charles blocked a guard’s swing and began to push him back towards the door. In the hallway, shouts were raised and the clash of steel upon steel signaled that Dean and Anthony were taking on the rear guards with the help of Jon Storm. Turning, arrow notched and ready, Philip watching his back, Clint targeted the King just as Natasha appeared beside Kate, brandishing her daggers at Emma Frost. A standoff ensued, everyone looking at each other. 

 

“Ah, now things get interesting,” the King said, rising from his chair as if he was thinking of going for a stroll. “Poor Alexander. Best laid plans and all that, I’m afraid. You really should have asked the right questions, but you were too anxious to see the plan come to fruition in your lifetime. Sometimes, the long view is the only way to win.” 

 

“I don’t understand,” Pierce said. “You were acting this whole time?”

 

In a flash, Clint knew. And the answer made such perfect sense that he should have seen it before. Emma had to be part of it, Loki too, perhaps even further back than their tenures as the King’s advisor.  The rot was growing at the very heart of the Midlands, seated on the royal throne itself. 

 

“That’s not the King.” Clint’s aim never wavered. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to the Sorcerer himself.” 

 

The King clapped his hands and mimicked a bow. “Very good; you still don’t miss much. Nice to know that hasn’t changed.  And the Professor has joined you!  Have you tried to scan my mind yet, Charles?” 

 

“What are you talking about?” Xavier asked. 

 

“Ah, haven’t met Erik yet, have you. Well, that will change things. Don’t worry. Assuming you live that long.” 

 

Skin melted away, like soap washed off by a steady trickle of water; he grew taller, more muscular, shiny silver armor slowly revealed. Helm plate closed, only glowing red eyes showed through two small slits, the articulated joints showing nothing of what lay beneath. 

 

“And here we are at last. Missing a few of the usual suspects, but Pierce did let Banner and Lewis slip through his fingers.  Although I have to give him credit for growing HYDRA right beneath your noses; for that alone, I’m going to give him a head start.”  The Sorcerer motioned to the balcony. “I believe your ride is waiting for you, Alexander.  Don’t forget to write.” 

 

“You used me. The Men of Letters, the Red Knight. All of us.” Pierce sounded more in awe than angry. “I never saw it coming.” 

 

“No one ever expects the attack without mercy. And I have none.” The Sorcerer tapped his wrist. “Time to go, Lady Frost. We’ve accomplished our goals in Burosey; on to phase three.” 

 

The door burst open, Anthony leading Stark guards into the room. Taking advantage of the disruption, Pierce moved, heading to the balcony.  Emma took the Sorcerer’s hand as a distortion appeared beside him, a widening portal that grew in size until the Green Knight stepped through, hand extended behind him, holding it open. 

 

“All is ready, my Lord,” the Green Knight said. 

 

“Stop them!” Maria cried out. 

 

“No!” Kate yelled at Pierce, dropping the sword and drawing a throwing knife. 

 

“After you,” the Sorcerer told Emma, ushering her through the portal. “Vision, close it behind us.” 

 

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Anthony rushed towards the Sorcerer, slamming into an invisible barrier.  

 

“You already have the answer,” Vision told Anthony before he followed his master, the portal collapsing.

 

Clint’s arrow hit Pierce in the flesh of his calf at the same moment Kate’s dagger sank into his left side; staggering, Pierce made it to the railing before he dropped to one knee, holding onto the balustrade to catch himself.  Kate got there first; she’d been moving as she threw, already five steps ahead of Clint. Yanking her knife out, blood splattering on the stones, she waved it at him. 

 

“You killed my father. My friends. My people. You’re going to answer for that.” Such grim determination pulsed in her energy; Clint’s magic changed key, fell into harmony with hers, winding Philip’s counterpoint between them all into one seamless composition.

 

“Be careful, child.” Pierce sneered. “Don’t make threats you can’t keep.” 

 

“Oh, she can do it,” Clint told him, glancing up. “She’s just got backup.” 

 

The body of the dragon blotted out the late evening sun, backdraft from her wings rattling the doors and sending the curtains fluttering. One of the King’s guards gasped; others simply dropped their weapons as Steven settled his mount on the edge of the balcony. Like a lady tucking her skirts in, the dragon folder her wings into her side and extended her neck, one knee bent so Steven and James could dismount. 

 

“Dragons aren’t real,” Pierce said, his mouth falling open at the sight.

 

“Want to see her breath fire?” James offered. He towered over Pierce, one eyebrow arched and mouth quirked in a half-smile. “She’s a good girl, aren’t you, Breuck?” 

 

Tilting her scaly head, one of her eyelids drifted closed as James scratched the ridge behind her ear. Talons left bloody prints and the spatters on James’ armor didn’t go unnoticed either; Pierce sagged down and sat against the rail, a hand over the wound in his side and a look of resignation on his face. In the room, Maria and Dean gathered up weapons as the remaining guards surrendered. Leaning on Natasha, Anthony limped out onto the balcony. 

 

“Breuck?” Anthony asked. “That this gorgeous creature’s name?” 

 

“Breuckelen. James and I grew up there. The tradition was to name dragons after places that were important.” Steven stopped, put his hands on his hips and cocked his head in a move similar to his dragon. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy; let me guess, you went after Stane.” 

 

“I didn’t kill him,” Anthony offered. “Ask Natasha; she saw the whole thing. Obie’s locked up in a dungeon cell and Pierce is going to be moving in next door.” 

 

“But Creepy Armor Dude and Queen Ice got away,” Kate said. “With that green and yellow guy with the cape. Who the hell wears capes with armor anymore? That’s just dumb.” 

 

“Prince Thor of Asgard does” Maria offered.

 

“Yeah, well, with his arms he can get away with it,” Anthony replied. “At least we know his name now. Vision. I’d have gone with Confusing Cryptic Statement Guy. The man needs to just say what he means once in awhile. We already have the answer? What the fuck kind of warning is that?” 

 

Anthony winked at Kate, intending to bump her with his shoulder, but he ruined the effect by wincing instead. 

 

“Sit down, Tony,” Steven advised. “Or I’ll carry you up to your room.” 

 

“Is that a promise?” Anthony waggled his eyebrows. 

 

Clint couldn’t help but snort. “Face it, Steve. You’ve got a type. Reckless bad asses with serious amounts of baggage. Just get used to it.” 

 

“Yeah, he and Phil should start a club,” James came back. 

 

“He has a point,” Philip agreed, stepping up on the opposite side of Kate. “First you, now this one.”

 

A smile spread across Clint’s face. “Yeah, she’s not half bad.” 

 

“Hey!” Kate protested. “I’m damn good and you know it.”

 

“Mini Barton,” Anthony said. “What did I tell you?” 

 

* * *

 

First thing she did was turn the grand ballroom into emergency triage; until the castle was cleared and declared safe, no one went unescorted, neither maid nor guard. That was edict number two; number one was that everyone was given aid, no matter which side they had fought for. At first, she worked from memory then Jarvis brought her account book and Virginia began firing off assignments. Edict three caused the most problems; wounded people needed to be treated and evaluated before they could help in the clean up. No exceptions and no arguments. 

 

“I’m the Head of the Guard,” Happy declared, pushing away Pepper’s hands as she tried to sew stitches in the long slash along his hairline. “I need to get out there and find my people.” 

 

“You have a broken leg.” Virginia was having none of it. “And I need you to be an example to everyone else. There’s plenty you can do from here.”

 

“I can help with that.”  Ada, one of Clint’s guards, sat down on Happy’s other side; her arm was in a sling, a bandage wrapped around her wrist. “You saved my life, Thane Hogan. It’s the least I can do.” 

 

Biting her lip to keep the smile from slipping onto her face, Virginia nodded seriously and didn’t comment on Happy’s stuttering yes he finally got out. “Excellent. I have the duty roster; you can start on status checks. Ada’s outside eye will be helpful; we’re too close to see clearly.”

 

Finishing up the last stitch, she tied off the waxed thread and handed a bowl of water, clean rag, along with a parchment to Ada. Happy was blushing as the woman took over the ministrations, gently cleaning the blood off his face. 

 

“Kitchens are in the perimeter,” Maria told her as Virginia approached the table they were using as a base. “Chef Justef used his own knives to take out three of the Hydras who tried to come in the garden down. Said he didn’t want them to disturb the roast he was basting.” 

 

“Guess I’m getting him some of those spices he keeps talking about.” Virginia made a note. “I’ll get started on a buffet in the dining room. We’ll need to have food available for the next few hours.” 

 

“We’ll start cycling the guards off duty to eat.” Maria waved down a page and passed her a list. “Take this to Thane Rhodes at the guard house.”

 

“Lady Potts?” One of Clint’s pages … Nathan, that was his name … tugged at her sleeve. “The north wing is clear. Lord Xavier and Lady Richards’s households have all four floors. The wounded are on the way down and the captives are being taken to the dungeon.” 

 

“Thank you.” Virginia pulled a wrapped piece of licorice from her pocket, handing it Nathan. “Check on Lord Barton in the east wing and King’s Tower.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am.” He darted away, picking up an escort at the door. 

 

“You two are scarily efficient,” Fury said. “You could run the Midlands without breaking a sweat.” 

 

He looked tired, his shoulders slumped, shirt sleeves rolled up. His forearm was wrapped in a stained bandage, and he was limping. 

 

“With all the missing Lords and Ladies, how will they decide on a new king? There’s no heir.”  Virginia hadn’t really had time to think of the implications; she was too busy trying to put things back together. “I wonder how long the King wasn’t the King.”

 

“It’s thrown the monarchy into chaos,” Fury agreed. “Which is exactly what he wants; he thinks we’re leaderless.” 

 

“Well, don’t look at me. We’ve had this conversation before; I have no desire to be a Lady Holder much less Queen of a kingdom. This is what I’m good at, ordering forces and making battle plans. Generals do not make good Kings,” Maria said. 

 

“I fear there’s little I will be able to do in the discussions; the Sorcerer made sure to blacken my name at every possibility. My voice will hold little sway to many,” Fury admitted. 

 

“Sit down.” Virginia nodded to a nearby chair. “Let me see to that wound and get you something warm to drink.  You can take five minutes from saving the world.” 

 

“Better just accept your fate,” Maria said with a fond smile. “Once Pepper has a plan, she has a way of making it happen.” 

 

Fury sat down without an argument. “Sounds like a perfect match to me.”

* * *

 

Town guards circled the prisoners, holding them at sword’s point. People huddled in their doorways and gathered at the edges of the street, light spilling from the lit torches and open windows. Landing on a pier nearby, Anthony waited until Steven guided the dragon down further out; she ducked her head in the water and then shook, repeating the maneuver a second time.  

 

“Lord Stark?” One of the town guards started in surprise when Anthony raised his visor. “We weren’t … I didn’t know … the prisoners …” 

 

“Yes, yes, I see.” Anthony was getting used to the response; this was the third stop he and Steven had made.  After Virginia had wrapped his ribs and given him a dose of her herbal brew, no one had gainsayed his plan to survey the city.  Mostly, it was to reassure the people that the dragon was on their side, but part of him wanted to be seen.  For once, he could admit his need to be reassured, to know he’d made the right choice. “Not a problem. Now, let’s see what we’ve got.” 

 

“We’ve gone house-to-house in the four quadrants south of the market. There’s the tunnels, of course, and probably a few hidden by their families, but we’ll find ‘em,” the guard promised.  

 

Stepping in front of the prisoners, Anthony scanned their faces, fears written in furrowed brows and defiance in clenched jaws. He was tired, beyond exhausted, and suddenly he wanted no more death, an end to blood in the streets and on innocent hands. With a sigh, he raised his voice so everyone could hear his verdict. 

 

“Here’s how it’s going to be.  You’re all going to a holding cell where you’re going to be locked up until we can deal with you.  I’ll be honest; it’s going to take a while. First priority is the wounded and putting out the fires.  Then we’ll take care of the dead. After that, you’ll each be given the opportunity to state your case. There’s a difference between loyalty and agreement; many of you believed what you were told, were manipulated into turning on your friends and family. If you’re willing to submit to a truth spell, the outcome will be taken into account. You will be punished, but we’re going to need a lot of hands to rebuild; a little hard work will go a long way towards making amends.”

 

Hope flared on some of the faces and a murmur ran through the crowd. The certainty of Stane’s lies settled in Anthony’s chest; the people -- his people -- believed the stories they’d heard. It was time for that to end. 

 

“If, however, you refuse the spell or are found to be part of the conspiracy against the rightful Lord of Burosey, justice will be handed out quickly and without hesitation. You will stand trial alongside the failed leaders who sought to destroy this kingdom.”  He curled his fingers and let magic gather, sparks that drew the eye of every observer. “Pray to whichever gods you want, your fate is now in my hands.” 

 

He nodded for the guard to take the prisoners away, dispersing the energy harmlessly into the ground. The crowd began to break up as well, some following with downcast heads, others returning to their homes. A woman, baby tucked into a sling across her breasts, two other children at her skirts, hesitated then approached. Ash smeared her face; the oldest, a boy of about ten years, had singed spots in his ginger hair. 

 

“My Lord.” She bobbed her head and didn’t look directly at him. “I thought I should tell you … my children’s father is a guard at the Temple of the Great Unmanifest. There was a fight there … they tried to capture the Prelate of Dunwoodie to take to the castle.”

 

“To swear in Stane once I was dead,” Anthony said. “Obie thought of everything.”

 

“And to sway her to their side. She’d be a powerful ally,” Steven agreed. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s very useful.” 

 

“I’m the one who should say thank you. My wife,” she nodded at the retreating prisoners. A woman with flaming red hair was looking back, sadness in her eyes. “She is … was … a guard in Lord Stane’s retinue. She knew nothing about Stane’s plan, just that she was to take the Prelate by force. She refused the order because she didn’t want to end up on the opposite side of the sword with our husband. There’s so many like her and to know that you are giving her a chance …” 

 

Tears welled in the woman’s eyes and Anthony took a step back. Last thing he wanted right now was a grateful crying person to deal with. Instead, he saw the son sneaking glances at Breuck and he nudged Steven’s side. 

 

“Someone’s interested in your ride,” he said. 

 

“You want to get closer?” Steven asked, squatting down to the boy’s level. “She loves to have her ridges scratched.” 

 

Green eyes widened as the boy stared unblinking at his mother who caught her breath, calmed and nodded once. That was all it took for the boy to put his hand in Steven’s and follow him along the pier. Lifting the child up, Steven showed him how to slip his fingers under the boney ridge.  In less than a minute, other children were inching that way; the bravest of the lot, a toe-headed girl who barely came up to Steven’s waist, crawled on top of a wooden crate and started on the other side. Soon, a flock of little ones were swarming around her and the dragon laid her head on the wooden slats, eyes closing in pleasure. 

 

“We should hire some Dragon Pages,” Steven said. “It takes a lot of hands to wash and oil her skin.”

 

“A dragon cleaning club.” Anthony chuckled. “I’d have been first on the list when I was their age.” 

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you take her for a mud wallow. Now that’s fun,” Steven smiled in return.

* * *

 

Grit collected in the corners of Philip’s dry eyes, his lids heavy and hard to keep open. The long day had turned into a long night and his energy was very nearly completely spent. What snatches he’d stolen through the bond from Clint and the others was rapidly depleting. He needed sleep and needed it soon. 

 

Walking into the sitting area of their rooms, he found Clint and Natasha ensconced with their guards, all members of the original mercenary troop, going over the details of clearing the castle. Everyone had been running ragged, checking not only their wing but also the King’s tower so Steven had a safe place to land and disembark when he and Anthony returned. Even Kate had helped by showing them all the passageways and secret doors she knew plus a few bolt holes as well. 

 

Thinking of the young girl, Philip looked around and tried to focus his foggy brain. Through the doorway into the dressing room, he found her, sprawled out on a chaise, arm hanging over one side, fast asleep. Taking a light throw from their bedroom, he came back and tossed it over her, tucking in the edges. He leaned over, brushing hair back from her face, fingertips brushing bare skin. 

 

_ “Teddy, take the left; Nate, the right. Billy, you and Wanda drive them away from the town. PIetro … “ Kate shouted orders as she ran along the wall, bow drawn, a long black braid flying behind her. Slender and tall, she was in her twenties, the beautiful woman the girl would become.  _

 

_ A blur ran past her, stirring the air. “Already done,” the man said, sliding to a halt.  Hair so blonde it gleamed white in the sun, he had Annamarie’s nose and her blue eyes.  _

 

_ “Smartass,” Kate told the grinning Pietro. “Then you’re on golem duty. Yank out the hex bags.”  _

 

_ “I hate you sometimes.” Pietro grinned as he spoke and winked at Kate. “But you’re still sexy as hell.”  _

 

_ “Fight first. Flirt later,” she shot back.  _

 

“She’s important, isn’t she?” Clint asked. 

 

Philip dropped his hand away, but the vision lingered. “She belongs with us. I saw her with Annamarie’s kids and the pages Theodore, William, and Nathan. They were fighting together.” 

 

“The young ones. That’s what the Sorcerer meant.” Clint tugged Philip into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.  “Look, right now, I’m too tired to make sense of it all. And you are too.  We’ve checked every nook and cranny; Natasha’s taking first watch; she’ll wake us if we’re needed.” 

 

“I need sleep,” Philip agreed. “The rest can wait until tomorrow.” 

 

As much as he wanted a bath, he settled for washing up in the bowl with water from the ewer, dropping his dirty clothes into the corner and sliding into bed in just his pajama bottoms. Clint closed his arms around him, drawing him close so skin touched skin and the bond settled over them, soothing Philip’s worries and lulling him to sleep. 

 

“I lined up a band for the harvest festival,” he mumbled from that place between waking and sleep, comfortable and only half aware. “Our anniversary.” 

 

“Only you would be organizing the festival in the middle of a battle.” Clint chuckled against Philip’s neck. “Didn’t have much of a wedding, but the bonding ceremony? I was thinking we’d spend the night under the stairs in the stone circle. I’d take you apart slowly and we’d rattle the earth a little.” 

 

“I love you.” Calm and boneless, Philip heard Clint’s reply as he fell asleep. 

 

“Always, Phil. I’ll always love you.” 

* * *

 

“Tell me that’s the island coffee stash.” Anthony held out his mug and Virginia poured a stream of fragrant black liquid. “Just leave the pot; I’m going to need it.” 

 

With only four hours of sleep, Anthony was surprisingly refreshed. Sharing his bed hadn’t been on the top of Anthony’s most restful ways to spend a night, but waking wrapped around Steven with Natasha curled up behind him was the best he’d felt in a long time. He never noticed when James switched watches with Natasha; without a drop of alcohol, he’d slept, dreamless and deep.

 

“Okay, people, who’s in charge of this meeting?  I’ve got a long list and not enough time to blow it off. Let’s get going.”  Anthony dropped into one of the more comfortable seats in the chamber room, a padded bench along one wall.  “Phil has assured me we won’t be overheard … magic, who knew, right? … so let’s dish up some truth and get back to slapping bandages on the mess out there.” 

 

“Technically, you’re the Lord of record,” Charles Xavier said from his chair by the table. “Since it’s your castle, you should open the floor.” 

 

“Fine. I hereby get this party started. First order of business: what the hell do we do now?” He stared at Nick Fury, sure the man would have a plan. Nick had plans for his plans. That’s where Philip had learned it. 

 

“I am persona non-grata,” Nick said, waving off Anthony’s look. “Anything that comes from me … or even seems like I had a hand in it … is going to get tanked by the Council of Lords.” 

 

“True,” Anthony agreed. “But that’s why this is a friendly enclave, not a full council. So speak, oh wise one.”

 

“How about we start with some information for those of us who are latecomers?” Susan Storm said. “Who is this Sorcerer and how long has he been masquerading as the King?” 

 

“How long, we don’t know,” Philip spoke up to answer. “But we can tell you what we do know about him.” 

 

They started from the beginning, sticking to just the facts and cutting out many of the details. The attack on Barton Manor,  Loki’s attempts to contract a marriage with both Philip and Darcy, discovering the tunnels, fighting off undead and golems and ghosts and a Lich. About Anthony’s kidnapping, his escape, the Red Knight and Lord Tarleton, the Men of Letters’ campaign to discredit magic. The story of finding Steven and his dragon was the most incredulous; if Anthony hadn’t lived through a big part of it, he’d never have believed it himself. 

 

“So what is he after, this Sorcerer? He’s brought our enemies together, but to what end?” Charles wondered out loud. “And why does he talk as if he knows us all?”

 

“He’s not after power; insofar as I can tell, he simply wants to create chaos.” Clint paused, gathered his thoughts then continued. “I think … well, I’m not one to shrink from the unexplained. Hell, I married a mage, saw the ghosts of my parents and fought the undead. Why not believe that I’ve lived before? That the same evil can return again and again? I mean, maybe it’s my ancestor, every twenty generations or something. But when I was in Stephen Strange’s house, I saw … other times, places … and we were there. Every time the Sorcerer comes back, we’re here to stop him.” 

 

“There’s a saying in the hunter community,” Ellen Harvelle offered. “As it is in the heavens, so too is it on earth. We’re playing out a story that’s been written and retold throughout history.” 

 

“ _ Turning and turning on a widening gyre _ ,” Charles murmured. 

 

An electric charge ran through the room, sparks jumping between exposed skin. It skittered to a stop when Steven blocked it with his shield. 

 

“Careful,” Philip warned. “Words have power.” 

 

“I can see.” Charles looked at his hands and the fading electricity. “I wonder if the concept of reincarnation explains especially strong bonds as well. That could be the catalyst for a personal gift to metastasize and grow. I suppose I shall have to be on the lookout for someone named Erik now.” 

 

“Bonds enhance gifts, that’s true,” Steven added. “Simple talents can become much stronger.” 

 

“It’s exponential, not additive,” Anthony said. “I can tell you that from experience.” 

 

“Much as I like the idea that I’d find Phil in any lifetime -- which is true, by the way -- once Philip’s power manifested, so did everyone around us. It’s like a flame, drawing others in.” Clint squeezed Philip’s hand and Anthony rolled his eyes at the sickeningly sweet look that passed between the two. 

 

“That’s the purpose of the comitatus relationship of Lord and Thane,” Simon Williams jumped in. “You find an heir and encourage their talents. You’re both better off together than separate.” 

 

“This is all well and fine,” Barbara interrupted. “But a little too academic for me. I’ve got Hydra guys hiding around the city, half of my people either dead or gone to the other side, and one of my right hands turned out to an evil magic user. Can we get back to the question of what to do right now?”

 

Anthony had thoroughly enjoyed the little introduction section of this get-together when Philip met Clint and Dean’s ex-lover, Barbara Morse who just so happened to be Mockingbird, the head of the Thieve’s Guild. That had been a priceless moment Anthony would treasure for quite awhile. Someone else got to be awkward for a change. 

 

“With no one on the throne, we can’t count on help from the Capital,”  Susan Storm said. 

 

“Then nothing has changed.” Ellen shrugged. “We’re on our own like always.” 

 

“So we do it ourselves.” The answer hit Anthony, arriving as a full blown series of numbers and variables that clicked into place. “We’ve got everything we need.  Loyal guard?  Hill here can coordinate an army and Pepper will keep them fed and clothed. All they need is a charismatic leader to follow, preferably one who rides a dragon. If you can dream up a mechanical toy, I can make it … yes, Sue, I know Reed’s fairly smart and could help. And speaking of Sue, we need people who can mingle at court, not be seen as one side or the other. People who gather information and go unnoticed.” He nodded to Natasha. “People who are good at taking care of problems.” James raised an eyebrow when Anthony winked at him. “Who can lead smaller, fast attack parties.” Clint stuck out his tongue at that one. 

 

“Pierce’s arrest will send the Men of Letters into a collapse,” Dean added. “We’ll need someone to step in to help train people rather than lock them in towers.” 

 

“My manor is close to University,” Charles offered. “I’ve got room. Always did want to be a scholar; seems my time has come.” He turned to Ellen. “I’d love to see your collection of books; there’s so much to catch up on.” 

 

“I’ll introduce you to Bobby Singer. He’s library puts mine to shame,” she replied with a smile.

 

“And most of all, we need to stop thinking like moldy old stick-in-the-muds.  Forget etiquette and hierarchy.  We need thieves and hunters and maybe even a pirate or two if we’re going to survive this,” Clint said.

 

“We’ll need a central location to operate from,” Simon said. “My lands are far to the South; I’ll be glad to train guards and offer financial support, but logistically, it makes sense to settle here in Burosey. Beside, it’s Tony’s idea.”

 

“I can’t move here,” Maria objected. “I’m …”

 

“I think Quartermaine is ready for a promotion, don’t you?” Nick interrupted her to ask. He was smiling, a sparkle in his eye. “Besides, you’ll still be in charge, just of a whole lot more than our guards.” 

 

“Nick,” Maria began. 

 

“You think I don’t know a bonded pair when I see one? Hell, you’ll be the third in the family. Stay here with Virginia and be happy, damn it.” 

 

Maria’s lip trembled ever so slightly. “I don’t know …”  She turned to find Virginia who was standing against a wall. “Do you … I mean …”

 

“Yes.” Virginia came forward and took Maria’s hands. “I do.” 

 

“Oh.” Maria paused then swept Virginia up in a kiss, bending her backwards as the room erupted in claps and cheers. Standing her back up, Maria tugged at her jacket and smoothed her hair back. “That’s decided then. But I want it clear that I take orders from Fury or Steven. No one else.” 

 

“Hey!” Anthony held up his hands as she glared his way. “I’m fine with that. I like taking orders from Steve too, as a matter of fact.” 

 

“Steve? What’s your answer?” Philip asked.  

 

Attention turned to the man standing by the fireplace, a thoughtful furrow in his brow. “ As much as I hate to work outside of the legal system, I don’t see another answer. Sometimes, to do what’s right, we have to take matters into our own hands. So we bring together all the gifted people we can find, educate and train them while we gather information, and prepare for the war to come.” 

 

“Well said, Steve, Lord Commander of … what are we going to call ourselves? The Marvelous? The Mighty? Tony’s Team?”  Anthony said.

 

“Captain of the Shield,” Clint tossed out. “We’re the shield that protects the people.” 

 

“Shield.” Anthony rolled the word on his tongue. “I like it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep using "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats. It's one of my favorite poems and so very fitting here. 
> 
> If you're not up to speed on the Young Avengers, that's Kate Bishop (aka Hawkeye), Billy Kaplan (Wiccan), Teddy Altman (Hulkling), and Nate Richards (Iron Lad). Obviously, Wanda and Pietro are older in the comics (Wanda is Billy and Tommy's mother -- we haven't seen Tommy yet), but I'm making them the same age here. That puts them just a little bit younger than Peter Parker, Hank Pym, and Janet Van Dyne -- who we'll see in future stories. 
> 
> Breuckelen is dutch for broken land; settlers in New York named their part of the city this and, ultimately, it came to be spelled Brooklyn. There's still a Breuckelen brewery operating in NYC today.
> 
> I stole the idea of the mud wallow and getting kids to help take care of Breuck straight from Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern series. Love those books. 
> 
> Reincarnation, eh?


	19. Unbounded Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cleanup begins and our heroes settle into their new jobs as members of The Order of the Shield. Kate has to make a decision, Natasha admits something, Maria asks something, and Clint just wants a moment to savor with his cobbled together family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, this isn't the end. From here on out the stories are going to be shorter and focused on one set of characters. With everyone spread out, it will work better that way. We'll get to visit Asgard as well. Look forward to Dean's story, Charles' hunt for Erik, and someone from Clint's past to throw a monkey wrench into everything. The Sorcerer is far from done!

“You’ll go home now.” Kate stood in the doorway, her bow clutched in her hand. She still wore her shirt and breeches from the day before, hair a tangled mess where it slipped from her braid. “Back to your manor.”

 

“There’s a few more things to settle here, but, yes, that’s the plan.” Philip shifted through the half-packed saddle bag, looking for his black coat. “I’ve a harvest festival to oversee and the expansion of the stables.  Dax needs a new cold room and there’s a cellar to dig.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” She turned to go and almost made it before Philip realized what was happening.

 

“Kate. Wait.” He put aside the clothes in his hands and gave her his full attention.  “Lord Richards has sent word to your sister; she is the heir of Bishop Holding. You can return and live with her if that’s what you wish.”

 

Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. “Gah, no thank you. Susan’s ten years older than I am and has too much of her mother in her. She never approved of my hoyden ways, as she called them, plus she has three kids already. It’ll be boarding school or fostering before the end of the year. I’ll take my chances on my own. Do you think Lady Potts will give me a job?”

 

“You can ask her,” Philip said. “Or you could come home with us. You said Buck had taught you all he knew; Clint and I can teach you more.”

 

“Is that what you want? A student?” Her lips curled up at the thought. “I don’t listen very wel,l and I can’t sit still.”

 

“Is that what they’ve told you?” Philip eyed her up and do. “Because I see someone who learns quickly, doesn’t need to be told twice, is creative, and takes initiative. And, no, we don’t want a student. What we want is for you to be our heir.”

 

She blinked, her mouth opening then shutting without a sound. Clearing her throat, she finally spoke. “Can I … I mean … I see.”

 

“You don’t have to decide right away. The official paperwork will take time to work through the process, even more so now. But the offer is sincere.” Last thing he wanted to do was scare her away by pressuring her. As much as he was sure she belonged with them, it had to be her decision.

 

“Right. I’ll think about it.” She drew back her shoulders and gave a crisp nod, turning quickly but not before Philip saw the glint of a tear in her eye. “I’m off to the kitchen to see if they have any of those hot cross buns left.”

 

“Oh, Theodore’s got a clean set of clothes for you. He’s about your size; that will suffice until we can get you measured and fitted for leathers.”

 

“Leathers?” That made her stop in her tracks. “You’re going to let me wear armor?”

 

“Armor’s necessary if you’re going to fight,” he replied.

 

“Yes. Yes it is,” she replied and headed off with a bounce in her step.

 

* * *

 

 

Silk slithered across flushed skin, embroidered flowers of red and yellow draped over the curve of a creamy breast, hem plucking at the pert nipple. Back arched up, Maria braced herself, feet flat on the bed, legs bend and spread wide, top of her leather boots turned down just above her knees. She moaned, her muscles tensing as she came close to the edge. .

 

“Please,” she begged. “Harder.”

 

Leaning over onto her hands, Virginia shifted positions, leveraging her weight to thrust harder, tugging the straps around her hips tighter to get the best sensation. Strands of hair rained down, tickling Maria’s skin. Dropping her head, she caught Maria’s mouth with her own, her tongue mimicking the same rocking motion, her teeth nipping at Maria’s lips.  That was all Maria needed; she cried out, a soft groan, and bucked, wrapping her legs around Virginia’s hips to hold on as she came. It was the sound of her name falling from Maria’s mouth, followed by terms of endearment, that tipped Virginia over.  Quivering still, she untied the straps and tossed the toy over the edge of the bed, flopping on her back beside Maria and lying there until her breathing slowed.

 

Rolling up on her side, she ran a hand along the worn, soft leather, tickling along the inside of Maria’s thigh where the boot ended. “ All you need are some laces on them and I’ll be yours forever.”

 

“How about I have a pair made for you? White, with heels and laces.  A pair of pants and bodice to go with them. Emerald green silk for the shirt. Then I’ll take all of it off except the boots and fuck you until you scream.” Maria’s smile was lazy, a sated contentment on her face.  “We’ll go to the Capital and spend a week doing nothing but shopping and eating and making love. There’s this tiny shop down by Banks Street with the most exotic and well-made devices …”

 

“Sappho’s. Ah, yes. Their scented lotions are so good.” Virginia smiled. “I doubt we’ll have time for a trip, not with everything that’s happening.”

 

“Traveling is going to be part of this.” Maria became serious. “I’ll have to coordinate with a lot of different people in different locations. Jarvis strikes me as very competent and now that Steven, James, and Natasha are here, the castle can go a week without you. There’ll be work for you when we get back, but it won’t burn down.”

 

“True. Still, I don’t really need anything new.” She sighed just thinking about a gorgeous pair of boots.

 

“If you’re worried about money, don’t be. Anthony already told me he’s giving you a more than generous bride gift and what better way to spend it than a new wardrobe fit for the wife of a Lady?” Maria’s eyes sparkled and she caught Virginia’s hand, bringing it to her mouth and kissing her fingers. “Assuming you want to marry me, that is.”

 

“Oh.” She couldn’t catch a breath; all the air had left her lungs. A blush crawled up her skin, heat rushing to the surface. “Yes. I’d like that.”

 

“Then white boots it is. And shoes. Lots of shoes.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I blame you.” Anthony panted and leaned against a work table. “You and your damn hip bones. Raising your arms like that. You know it makes your shirt lift up.”

 

Steven laughed and stretched, bending first to the left and then the right. His muscles rippled, Anthony’s finger marks red along the curve of his waist, scratches near one nipple. When painters depicted gods, they made them look like Steven Rogers. That Anthony had just been buried deep inside that perfect ass, bending him over a table and making him moan, was the most unbelievable thing that had ever happened to him. Taking bonding and magic and ghosts and monsters into account that was saying a lot.

 

“I’ll start wearing tighter shirts.” Steven tugged up his pants and laced them up. “If it’s going to make you respond like that.”

 

“So when I grab you in the middle of one of those endless meeting and toss you up against the wall, you’re going to be okay with that?” He should put his clothes back on, but he wanted to enjoy the moment while he could.

 

“Why are you naked, and why didn’t someone call me to join in?” James asked as he came through the door.

 

“Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?” Anthony shot back. “Shield boy and I just finished having kinky workshop sex; you up for round two? I can go again.”

 

“As appealing as that sounds, Rhodes needs to update you on the guards’ progress.” James walked over and kissed him. “You said you wanted to be more hands on.”

 

“It sets a good precedent.” Steven put on his shirt. “Is Natasha coming?”

 

“In front of everyone? Didn’t think she was into public sex.” Anthony picked up his pants and started dressing. “I’m going to regret pretending to do my job, aren’t I?”

 

“If you repeat that joke in front of Nat, you won’t be able to regret anything,” James told him.

 

“See, this is why I need all of you to keep me in line.” Anthony shrugged on his shirt. “Nat scares me, you remind me not to be stupid, and Steve” he coughed “inspires me.”

 

“You are full of shit, Tony,” James said with a laugh. “And you look like you just had sex.”

 

“Then I’m ready to go.”

 

* * *

 

“So you’re staying here.” 

 

Clint joined Natasha atop the battlements, looking out of the evidence of yesterday’s fight.

 

“I’m not leaving you,” she replied without turning. “I’m going to be everywhere, doing my job.”

 

“I know,” Clint admitted, leaning on his forearms and gazing at the gate below. Activity buzzed around it, guards checking those who would enter and workers fixing the damage. “No way you’re getting rid of me that easily. I’ll still have your back.”

 

“It’s strange, seeing you happy. It looks good on you.” One corner of her lips turned up and she tilted her head as she finally looked at him. “Could you ever have imagined we’d end up here?”

 

Chuckling, Clint remembered those first days, on the run together, hiding in sewers and burned out houses. So hungry and tired, so scared of every shadow. “Gods, but it’s been just a year since we came back. Can you believe it? Me, a Lord and a married man. Now, you with three husbands? That makes sense.”

 

That got a laugh; he was glad he could still pull her back from her thoughts. “Well, three at the moment. Who knows? I might need more to keep up with me.”

 

“It looks good on you too. Love.” Clint nudged her with his shoulder and she nudged back. “There’s a word I never thought I’d use about either of us.”

 

“It’s not love,” she explained, “if by love you mean that romantic nonsense from ballads and poems. Singing under her window, running away together, tingly all over … that’s childish and unrealistic. This … this is  …”

 

“Support. Comfort. Trust. A perfectly balanced bow,” Clint supplied.

 

“Strength. Understanding. Knowledge. They make me stronger.” She paused, sighed then smiled.  “I sound like a sentimental fool.”

 

“You’re a woman in love,” Clint corrected. “Time to admit there’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“I will when you do.” The moonlight reflected in her eyes as she gazed fondly at him. “We’re a package deal, the two of us. Besides someone needs to pull your fat out of the fire; you get into too much trouble when I’m not around.”

 

He started to protest but she was right; she’d saved his ass more times than he cared to remember. Instead, he shrugged. “True. And it’s not like you don’t have a dragon available for quick trips. I expect you and your harem at the Harvest Festival.  Gaelic Storm will be playing; Phil talked to them this morning.”

 

“In the middle of all this, it’s nice to know some things don’t change,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss Annamarie’s pasties. What about Kate? Will she be there?”

 

“Oh, gods, I don’t know. Phil asked her and she’s thinking about it. Do you think I can … I mean I don’t have an experience in family, not one that functions anyway. Are we making a mistake?” He let his doubts bubble to the surface, the hurts of his childhood never too far away. What would a screwed up son of a drunkard know about raising a teenager?

 

“Don’t make me hit you in the head,” Natasha warned. “What do you think you’ve been doing with the motley crew you surrounded yourself with? Carol, Jessica, me, Andrew, Rachel, Nathan, Theodore, William, Ada, and all the others?  Between you and Phil, Kate Bishop is one lucky girl. End of story.”

 

He ran a hand through his hair, blushing at her compliment. “Damn it, Nat, I’m not … fine, whatever.”

 

Riders approached the gate; Clint recognized Reed Richards and his thane Benjamin Grimm. They had a party of eight that included a man and woman who appeared to be nobles along with guards.

 

“Looks like there’s news.” Natasha pushed away from the wall. “Come on, Dad, let’s go see what Richards has to say.”

 

“Don’t call me that; it’s creepy,” Clint protested, following her.

 

“So no age play with you and Phil?” She hummed thoughtfully. “Anthony owes me fifteen silver pieces; he was sure of that one.”

 

“You bet on my sex life?” Clint asked.

 

“Like you don’t bet on mine?” She shot back.

 

“Fine. Drinks are on you next time.”

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

“Ah, but she makes a fine choice, my boy. Fits right in here.”  Richard McCarter clapped Clint on the back, causing his mug of cider to splash over the edges and spill over his fingers. “Nice to have a line of succession again. Get one or two more heirs, and we can all breath easier. Not that we want you going anywhere, but life doesn’t always work the way we want, does it?”

 

“No, it doesn’t. Sometimes it works better than I ever imagined,” Clint answered, his eyes following Kate as she balanced a plate of pasties and fried pies, her second helping of the evening.

 

 In the month she’d been at the manor, she’d become the defacto leader of a group of kids and teens.  The youngest of the batch, Pietro and Wanda, followed her everywhere, idolizing her like a big sister.  Nathan, William and Theodore fell right in line, willing conspirators in mischief, all of it innocent fun that made Clint remember days of running wild with Annamarie. Of the older teens, Peter, who’d made straight for Barton Manor after rescuing Janet Van Dyne, was Kate’s equal; she taught him knife throwing tricks, and he ran her through gymnastic obstacle courses.  Hank Pym had eyes only for Janet, a lost puppy look on his face all the time except when he was waxing poetic about his latest scientific project.

 

And Janet? Kate took one look at the subdued girl with short spiky brown hair that had been shorn by the Men of Letters and decided they would be best friends. Reeling from her captivity and loss of her father, Janet could have faded into the woodwork and gone unnoticed, but Kate refused to let her, dragging her out on adventures and cajoling her into taking part in daily drills with the others. Early today, Clint had even seen Janet laughing as she and Kate wandered the market, buying trinkets and sweets. 

 

As to her new life, Kate had taken to her training like a duck to water, listening and practicing with an intensity that startled Clint at first. She was a girl driven by her own demons; the least Clint would do was give her the best he could and let her know she had a safety net. Give her enough space, he hoped, and she would grow into the strong woman he knew she could be.

 

“Indeed it does.” Laird McCarter grinned, waving at his wife Melinda who was seated in the best seat at their table, surrounded by their children and grandchildren. Tonight, she wore an especially hideous sunflower yellow bodice with a polka dot green and yellow underskirt. It hurt Clint’s eyes to look directly at the outfit. “I thought for a while this holding was cursed, but the winds have changed, my boy. Let’s ride them while we can.”

 

Making his way towards his seat, Clint surveyed the tables and the people circled around the dancing field.  This year’s crowd was bigger than last; merchants from Burosey set out their wares, and three wagons came over the pass from Asgard, filled with beautiful filigree work, tight woven cotton, children’s toys, and sharp knives. Luke Cage had outdone himself; his silver pieces were just as good as the more well-known artisans, and he was celebrating an arrangement to sell his imprint in Burosey over the winter. Annamarie’s pasties disappeared as fast as she could make them, and Dax’s soup, spicy and full of mushrooms, made the whole clearing smell delicious.

 

He saw Natasha nod at an empty bench she’d saved under the eaves of the big oak. She was sitting with James, talking to Carol about guard training and troop rotations no doubt. On the other side of James, Anthony had his head down with Hank, Bruce looking over their shoulders, scribbling with chalk on a slate board. Samuel Wilson, back from his summer tinker’s route, was laughing at something Steven had said, Philip smiling as he listened.  Sipping some of the Frasier fine whiskey, Dean and his brother Sam had their feet propped up, Sam not far from Carol, enjoying the breeze that stirred the turning leaves on the branches above. Deep in conversation with Laird Thomas, Nick Fury worked his way through a plate of piled high with food. And Darcy, her belly just starting to show in her simple cotton dress, leaned against Bruce, her eyelids already drooping; she tired so easily these days.

 

Taking his seat beside Philip just as the first notes of the opening group began, Clint snagged a sweet roll from Steven’s plate and bit into the pastry. Cinnamon, honey and raisins burst on his tongue and the icing clung to his fingers. Licking it off slowly, he watched his husband’s eyes darken, and he smiled a wicked little smile at him, making all sorts of unspoken promises. For the first few numbers, he was content to lean against Philip’s chest and listen, letting the words and notes flow around him. 

 

“ _Some are born to happiness, it comes as no surprise. I bent the bow, I let the arrow fly_.” [1]

 

By the time the second group began to play, Clint was feeling the effects of the whiskey he’d switched over to drinking; matching Dean and Anthony drink for drink wasn’t the best of ideas.  As the fiddle began to play, he had barely enough time to put his glass down before Philip pulled him out onto the field to dance, laughing as they went.  All together they shouted, “ _Stand and deliver or the devil he may take ya!_ ”[2] and then song segued into a [fast jig](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGBNencu_Zg&list=PLPE00kj7OBDzRB8nvC00ngG_avJyCck2q) that left Clint breathless. 

 

Gaelic Storm opened with [“Scalliwag”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVbD5tJ_H9w&list=PLEdkU1d-l1nPy-N8NWEMTbBjoWMQxwint) and, at some point, Clint dragged Philip back to their seats, pouring them each a finger of whiskey. He saw Kate, eyes sparkling, dancing with Dean and then Anthony; she and Janet danced with the Pietro and Wanda, even managing to get Peter and Hank to join their circle. 

 

“ _There’s a love that’s divine, and it’s yours and it’s mine, like the sun._ ” 

 

Clint didn’t care about decorum or what Lord should or shouldn’t do. He took Philip’s hands and joined in singing.

 

“ _You feel my life with laughter, somehow you make it better, ease my troubles that’s what you do._ ”[3]

 

Clint forgot about the dangers that lurked beyond the light of fires and candles, the darkness that sought to creep into their lives. Right now, he was with the man he loved, his raggle-taggle family, and surrounded by his people. That would be enough. Tomorrow, he’d worry about the rest.

 

 

 

 

[1] “Native Son” by Oysterband [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bDCTqBcY_o).

[2] “Whiskey in a Jar” Pretty much every celtic band of note has a version of this song.

[3] “Have I Told You Lately” by Van Morrison. There’s a great version of him singing with The Chieftains[ here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4vAsdBHu3k&list=RD-4vAsdBHu3k#t=2). I prefer it over the Rod Stewart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed this story. I certainly have enjoyed writing it. I'm off to work on some other projects that I put on the back burner as I wrote this, but I'll be back! :))))


	20. Who's Who at the end of "Under the Brave Black Flag"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People asked for a who's who list that includes everyone in this story. So here you go! If their power is known, I've listed it as well as putting their Marvel/Supernatural role in italics after, just in case you were wondering. :)

WHO’S WHO IN “UNDER THE BRAVE BLACK FLAG”

 

Alexander Pierce, Head Master of Letters, Men of Letters. _Leader of HYDRA_

Andrew, Groomsman and Dragon Wrangler at Barton Manor. OCC

Annamarie Dugan, Chatelaine of Barton Manor. OCC

Anthony Stark, Lord of Burosey, Bonded with Steven Rogers, James Buchanan, and Natasha Romanoff. Power: technomagic, armor, flight. _Iron Man, Avenger._

Barbara Morse, Head of the Thieves Guild in Burosey, Ex-lover of Clint Barton and Dean Winchester. Power: unknown. _Mockingbird, Avenger, Agent of SHIELD_

Benjamin Grimm, Thane to Reed Richards, Head of the Guard. _The Thing, Fantastic Four_

Brock Rumlow, Thane to Alexander Pierce, Men of Letters, HYDRA member. _Crossbones_.

Bruce Banner, Clerk of the Desert Order, Bonded with Darcy Lewis. Power: Berserker. _The Hulk, Avenger_

Carol Danvers, Thane to Clint Barton, Captain of the Guard at Barton Manor, Bonded with Samuel Winchester. Power: Flight, Intuition, Strength. _Captain Marvel, Avenger._

Charles Xavier, Lord. Power: telepathy. _Professor X, X-Men_

Clay Quartermane, Guard Captain at Tarian Castle. _Agent of SHIELD_

Clinton Barton, Lord of Barton Hold, Bonded with Philip Coulson. Power: perfect aim, enhanced reflexes and sight, magic.   _Hawkeye, Avenger, Agent of SHIELD_

Darcy Lewis, Lady, Heir of Nick Fury, Bonded with Bruce Banner. Power: Bard, magic, music. _Jane Foster’s Research Assistant in Thor_

Dax, Head Cook at Barton Manor. OCC

Dean Winchester, Hunter, Brother of Samuel, Men of Letters. Power: Can’t die. _Supernatural._

Ellen Harvelle, Hunter in Burosey, Mother to Jo. _Supernatural_

Emma Frost, Lady. Power: Freezing. _X-Men_

Fandral, Thane of Asgard.

Foggy Nelson, Solicitor in Burosey. _Law Partner to Matt Murdock_

Freya, Queen of Asgard, Mother of Thor, Adopted Mother to Loki. Power: Healing.

George Tarleton, Lord of Plaim. _M.O.D.O.K., Supreme Leader of A.I.M._

Glen Ferguson, Laird, Holder to Clint Barton. OCC

Happy Hogan, Head of the Guard at Stark Castle. _Tony Stark’s bodyguard_

Henry “Hank” Pym, grandson of Richard and Melinda McCarter, student at the University. _Antman, Avenger_

James Buchanan, Thane to Steven Rogers, Bonded with Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Anthony Stark. Power: accelerated healing, strength. _The Winter Soldier, Avenger._

James Fraiser, Laird, Holder to Clint Barton. OCC

James Rhodes, Thane to Anthony Stark. _Warmachine, Avenger._

Jane Foster, Lady, Cousin to Darcy Lewis, Bonded with Prince Thor of Asgard. _Scientist girlfriend of Thor_

Janet Van Dyne, daughter to Vernon Van Dyne. Power: shrinking, flight. _Wasp, Avenger._

Jasper Stilwell, Clerk at Tarian Castle. _Agent of SHIELD/HYDRA_

Jessica Drew, Thane to Clint Barton, Bonded with Fandral of Asgard. Power: Precognition, enhanced reflexes, strength. _Spiderwoman, Avenger._

Jo Harvelle, Hunter in Burosey, Daughter to Ellen. _Supernatural_

John Garrett, Mayor of Fraiserton. _Agent of SHIELD/HYDRA_

John Storm, Thane to Reed Richards, Brother to Susan Richards. _Human Torch, Fantastic Four_

Katherine ‘Kitty’ Pryde, Apprentice to Robert Singer. Power: phasing. _X-Men._

Katherine Bishop, Lady, Heir to Clint Barton and Philip Coulson. Power: enhanced reflexes, perfect aim. _Hawkeye, Young Avengers_

Kevin Tran, Apprentice to Robert Singer. Power: Prophecy. _Supernatural_

Kurt Wagner, Pirate on the Rogue’s Gambit. _Nightcrawler, X-Men_

Lance Hunter, Thieves Guild. _Agent of SHIELD_

Leo Huskey, Laird, Holder to Clint Barton. OCC

Loki, Prince of Asgard, Brother to Thor. Power: illusion, mind control.

Luke Cage, Blacksmith in Fraiserton, Cousin to Samuel Wilson. _Defenders, married to Jessica Jones_

Madge the Appler, Fraiserton. OCC

Maria Hill, Thane & Lady, Head of the Guard at Tarian Castle, Heir to Nick Fury, Bonded with Virginia Potts. _Assistant Director of SHIELD_

Matt Murdock, Solicitor in Burosey. _Daredevil, Defenders_

May Parker, Chatelaine of Tarian Castle, Peter Parker’s Aunt.

Melinda McCarter, Lady, Holder to Clint Barton, always wears yellow. OCC

Meriem Drew,, Leader of HYDRA, Thieves Guild. Power: Magic. _Madame Viper, HYDRA_

Mielikki, Princess of Asgard.

Natasha Romanov, Thane to Clint Barton, Bonded with Steven Rogers, James Buchanan, and Anthony Stark. Power: Invisibility, stealth, enhanced reflexes. _Black Widow, Avenger, Agent of SHIELD_

Nathaniel Richards, Page at Barton Manor, Power: tecnomagic. _Iron Lad, Young Avengers_

Nicholas Fury, Lord of Tarian Castle. _Director of SHIELD_

Obediah Stane, Thane to Anthony Stark. _Board Member and Ex-CEO of Stark Industries_

Odin, King of Asgard, Father of Thor, Adopted Father to Loki.

Ororo Monroe, Second Mate on the Rogue’s Gambit. Power: weather control. _Storm, X-Men_

Orson Thomas, Laird, Holder to Clint Barton. OCC

Peter Parker, Thane, Heir of Nick Fury, Student at the University. Power: Wall-crawling, Spider sense, enhanced reflexes. _Spiderman, Avenger_

Philip Coulson, Heir of Nick Fury, Lord of Barton Hold, Bonded with Clint Barton. Power: Mage, magic-user. _Agent of SHIELD_

Pietro Dugan, son of Annamarie Dugan. Power: superspeed. Quicksilver, Avenger, X-Men

Piotr Rasputin, Pirate on the Rogue’s Gambit. Power: metal skin, strength. _Colossus, X-Men_

Red Knight, Lord Protector of the EastLands. _The Red Skull, HYDRA_

Reed Richards, Lord, Bonded with Susan Richards. _Mister Fantastic, Fantastic Four_

Remy LeBeau, Pirate King, Captain of Rogue’s Gambit. _Gambit, X-Men_

Richard McCarter, Laird, Holder to Clint Barton. OCC

Robert “Old Man” Singer, Hunter, Resident of Caine’s Cross. _Bobby Singer, Supernatural_

Samuel Wilson, Tinker, Cousin to Luke Cage. _Falcon, Avenger_

Samuel Winchester, Hunter, Brother of Dean, Men of Letters. Power: unknown. _Supernatural_

Sif, Shield-maiden of Asgard.

Simon Williams, Lord. _Wonderman, Avengers_

Steven Rogers, Lord, Captain of the Shield, Bonded with James Buchanan, Natasha Romanoff, and James Buchanan. Power: strength, accelerated healing. _Captain America, Avenger._

Susan Richards, Lady, Bonded with Reed Richards, Sister to John Storm. _Invisible Woman, Fantastic Four_

The Sorcerer. _Ultron._

Theodore Altman, Page at Barton Manor. Power: Strength, transformation. _Hulkling, Young Avengers_

Thor, Prince of Asgard. Brother to Loki, Bonded with Jane Foster. Power: flight, strength.

Vernon Van Dyne, Lord, Father to Janet Van Dyne, Deceased. _Scientist_

Virginia Potts, Lady, Chatelaine of Burosey, Bonded with Maria Hill. Power: fire. _Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries_

Vision, AKA the Green and Yellow Knight, Thane to the Sorcerer. _Vision, Avenger_

Volstagg, Thane of Asgard.

Wanda Dugan, daughter of Annamarie Dugan. Power: magic. _Scarlet Witch, Avenger, X-Men_

William Kaplan, Page at Barton Manor. Power: Flight, transportation, magic. _Wiccan, Young Avengers_

Jessica Jones. Power: strength. _Defenders_


End file.
